


what he would've wanted

by heilige_bos



Series: He is his father's son [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 'Major Character Death' doesn't happen in this work, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But it's happened and Grogu cannot forget it, Cara 'Don't do the baby thing' Dune Struggles, Child Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grogu has a lot of hurt and sometimes he has a little comfort, He won't let himself, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Leia Organa Finds Out Her Son Committed Arson, Luke's Jedi Temple, Mandalorian Boba Fett, Mandalorian Grogu, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Or rather the destruction of it, Wholesome Boba Fett, as a treat, how does Grogu Years even work, more at 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heilige_bos/pseuds/heilige_bos
Summary: 19 years after the events of 'If you must die, sweetheart,'Grogu is older. Stronger. He can protect the other younglings - he can even protect Master Luke, despite the constant questions of 'why you?'That, Grogu thinks, is a stupid question.Who else would it be?(Or; Grogu trains with the Jedi and lives happily for a while. Then Ben Solo comes, or goes, to town.)
Relationships: Boba Fett & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Cara Dune & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker
Series: He is his father's son [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120307
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104





	1. why you?

**Author's Note:**

> mmmm mandalorian Grogu. such a delicious, underrated concept.  
> It grabbed me by the neck and forced me at my computer. In the span of five minutes I've written down the vague outline of the entire story.  
> It'll be very, very casual though. I'll try my best to make sure I keep writing the story, but there won't be a set "sit down and write" moment. Updates will come at the pace they decide to come.  
> But I am very excited to write this. God, I live for this show and this concept. I wake up to it and I sleep to it.  
> This particular work will definitely have more than one chapter, but this series might have more than one work. Ain't that peachy.  
> Mando'a translations in the end note, and a whole rant on how Grogu's species mature because I s u f f e r e d with that

It took a long while for Grogu to realise that _smoke_ does not mean _danger._

 _Smoke_ can mean an open campfire, _smoke_ can mean Master Luke’s hopeful attempts at cooking dinner, _smoke_ can mean candles and late-night reading.

It took a long while for Grogu to realise that screaming doesn’t mean _danger._ Screams can be cheerful. Screams can be playful. Screams can mean excitement, or even happiness.

It took Grogu a long time to realise that footsteps - so many of them - don’t mean _danger_. They can be the pattering feet of his fellow students or the slow and watchful gait of Master Luke.

It took Grogu a long time to realise that speaking does not mean _danger_. It took a long time for Grogu to realise that asking for help does not mean _hurt_. It took him a long, long time for Grogu to realise that he could _stop_ hiding away pieces of food in the many crevices of the walls - just in case it stopped coming.

It took Grogu a long time to realise that here, surrounded by others that had powers like him, that trained with him, that laughed and played with him - that here, he is safe.

 _Buir_ would’ve been happy for him.

It would take Grogu a long time to forget the face of his _Buir_. It would take him even longer to forget the feel of the metal - _Beskar_ \- against him. It would take him a long, long time to forget the _Crest_.

It would take Grogu a long, long time for him to forget - because as long as he is able to, Grogu would not let himself.

…

 _“Well,”_ Ba’vodu' _s voice is full of strained cheer - false cheer. “I don’t...I know this doesn’t...look like much, but it’s pretty good. Warm, and safe-ish, and it keeps out of the rain…”_

Ba’vodu _trails off and leaves Grogu to blink owlishly at the dingy home. Later, when he is older, he’ll realise that he didn’t mind_ Ba’vodu' _s home. With its grey, unmarked walls and sparse furniture._

_He didn’t mind the house itself. The Force felt safe here - not content, but not afraid. He had no problem with that._

_It was more like he had a problem with the occupants._

Ba’vodu _was alright. She was strong, she was safe, she was kind - but she was awkward, she was hesitant,_ _( ~~she was afraid, of doing the wrong thing, of messing up. Wrong footed with the sudden responsibility of~~_ ~~**_him_** _)_~~

Ba’vodu _was alright - but she was_ Ba’vodu _, and Grogu wanted_ Buir.

…

Grogu had been here for a while. He has seen the other younglings come and grow. He has seen Master Luke’s eyes grow more tired - but never less fond. He has seen the seasons pass and the Jedi Temple that was his school ~~(that was his _home,_ not like the _Crest_ was but not unlike it)~~ be rebuilt and he can tell the stories of every scorched saber mark on the walls.

Grogu has grown larger, taller; if he lifts his ears up, as high as they can go, he can almost imagine they’d reach the hips of Master Luke. He has grown faster, he has grown stronger in body, and in The Force.

It’s a fact that he’s made sure to announce every once in a while - to the rolling eyes of the Younger Younglings, to the widened-eyes of the Even Younger Younglings, to the kind eyes of Master Luke.

~~(It’s a fact he keeps telling himself - telling him that it’d be different this time, that he can fight back, that he has a chance.)~~

The first time he’s said it ~~(that he’s stronger, faster, that he’d be able to help)~~ to Master Luke, his words were met with a thoughtful nod - and a question.

_‘Why must it be you?’_

That, Grogu thought, was a stupid question to ask. If it’s not him, then who else will it be?

_‘It could be me.’_

And what if, Grogu had argued, Master Luke falls?

 _‘I won’t fall.’_ Master Luke had sounded affronted. _‘I’d- I am in check of my emotions, Grogu.’_

~~(Grogu doesn’t bother telling him that he hadn’t meant the Fall to the dark.)~~

Master Luke sounded and looked a bit stung, so Grogu had let it fall - let the Jedi Master focus on happier things, like the other Younglings, like the bright of the Force, like the layer upon layer of safety and content.

Afterwards, Grogu avoided mentioning it to Master Luke. 

~~(He had avoided the Jedi Master entirely)~~

It was only after a while ~~(a week? A day? A month?)~~ when Master Luke had knelt down to look him squarely in the eyes. Kind, worried blue ones stared into the depths of large, owlish black ones.

_‘Is everything alright, Grogu?’_

Of course it is, Grogu had sent, forcing his fidgeting to still.

_‘You seem a little bit out of it for the past few [------]. I thought it’d be better for me to let it pass, but you only seem to be getting worse.’_

Master Luke’s voice was so, so soft. It was so, so worried.

~~_(_ ' _Ner ad. Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, nothing can hurt you. It’s safe. You’re safe.’)_ ~~

It took Grogu a long, long time to realise that asking for help doesn’t mean _hurt_.

…

 _“_ Verd’ika _!” The_ Beroya’s _voice was a much too loud hush - yet somehow it fell short of the other’s ears._

_Grogu halted, letting the other Younglings pass him by, until he stood alone in the open-air hallway. To either side, what made as semi-functioning ‘walls’ were large and prickly bushes - with thorns that were enough to ward off even the most daring and desperate predator._

_The most daring and desperate predator not wearing Beskar armour, that is._

_If Grogu’s steps had a cheerful bounce to a familiar sight, it was backed away by the concern, sprouting like weeds from Beroya’s voice and seedling into Grogu’s heart._

_“You worried me,_ Verd’ika _.” After a brief moment of empty hands in the air, and a silent nod of permission, Grogu found himself wrapped around the_ Beroya’s _arms. “I come back one [------] to find your_ Ba’vodu _empty of you. I thought the worst.”_

 _Grogu chirruped softly, his ears lifting upwards._ Beroya _was a welcome sight - a familiar one, in a temple of new new new_ _( ~~and so so old).~~_

 _“I knew the_ Jetiise _w_ _ere famed for kidnapping children like you,”_ Beroya _sighed. “Forgive me,_ Verd’ika _, I should have kept a better eye on you.”_

Kidnapping? _Grogu thought. Master Luke hadn’t kidnapped him, Grogu chose to go with him._

_Beroya’s breaths fell short._

“Verd’ika?”

…

Maybe it was a good thing, Grogu muses now, that it took him so long to learn that _smoke_ doesn’t mean danger, that _footsteps_ don’t mean ambush, that _screaming_ doesn’t mean pain. Maybe it had been a good thing that he struggled to understand that the people here meant him no harm - that he was safe, truly safe, for the first time in a long long time.

For, if he had learnt quickly, he wouldn’t have tensed up the moment the air turned acrid. For, if he decided that he was safe, he wouldn’t have glanced towards his unlocked door when the footsteps stormed in the hallway on the other side. For, if he believed, truly believed, that the people here meant him no harm, he would have returned Ben Solo’s call.

It was a good thing, Grogu decided now, that he hadn’t forgotten. Master Luke had meant well - had believed well - but Grogu had _known_ better.

Now, with the rising smell of smoke in the air, with the screams of the other Younglings fallen silent, Grogu backed away slowly from his door - kept shut against the dangers that clawed at his door with a single, tri-clawed raised hand. 

His ears, twitching; his eyes, darting around; his heart, beating so, so calmly.

~~_( '_ _How about we play a game...okay?’)_ ~~

Grogu wished he had more time - more time to gather himself, more time to pack his things, more time to smuggle _Buir_ ’s helmet together into his hiding spot. He spared a glance underneath his bed where - swaddled carefully in the softest blankets he owned - a familiar silver glint stared back at him.

The door _heaved_ against the Force and his decision was made for him.

All he allowed himself was a second to push back against the danger - so, so determined to reach him, to catch him ~~(and he can’t he can’t he cannot get caught)~~ \- before he dove into a crevice in his wall.

 _Buir_ ’s helmet stared after him, almost accusingly.

 _(‘Beskar is a metal like no other,_ Verd’ika. _It’s capable of surviving almost anything. Not even the saber of a_ Jetii _can cut through pure Beskar.')_

 _Please let_ Beroya _be right,_ Grogu pleaded. ~~_(_ _He has already lost so much, he cannot -_ **_will not_ ** _\- lose the helmet.)_~~

For a brief moment - for a breath of a heartbeat in which Grogu pushed himself as far into the shadowed safety of the crevice he could - there was silence, and time stood still.

Then his door flung off its hinges.

~~_(‘You need to be quiet, okay?’)_ ~~

Grogu’s smoke-filled breaths were as soundless as he can make them. His cries completely silenced. He crouched down, pressed down, low low to the ground and didn’t let himself scrape his claws on the floor.

After a breath, a heartbeat, and the sound of a footstep, Grogu closed his eyes.

His ears twitched, their tips brushing against the rough walls of the crevice. There was nothing but the smell of smoke smoke smoke. 

Nothing but the beat of his heart - thundering now in the silence - that echoing the only slightly hurried footsteps of someone looking for him.

The footsteps paced his room once, then twice, then they slowly came to a halt. But while the physical sound of their footsteps ceased, Grogu could feel the tugging and prodding of the Force around him.

_(‘Alright Younglings, we’re going to be playing a little game of hide and seek today. But! Instead of finding your friends with your eyes, I want you to learn how to search for someone’s Force presence’)_

No, that’s not useful, Grogu wasn’t looking for anyone.

_(‘Stance wide, like this. Now hold your saber directly in-’)_

No, no! He didn’t need saber training right now. The tugging of the Force grew stronger, and his heart rate spiked.

_(Master Luke knelt down amongst them, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘Now, since you don’t want to get caught, I’ll show you a little trick I found that helps mask your Force presence.’)_

One breath. Another. The prodding stilled.

A shifting of feet. A small cough. 

Grogu shivered as he finally, finally felt the tugging of the Force dissipate. He blinked his eyes open, watching as on the other side of the crevice, the feet shifted their weight - then walked away.

…

Ba’vodu _had been sat at the table for a good few [-------] now._

 _Grogu peeked around the corner, his ears twitching, watching as_ Ba’vodu _swiped across the datapad with a finger - her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes tired._

_He hesitated. The world on the other side of the windows was dark and silent - most, if not all of the people had already gone to bed._

_He had gone to bed too. A few [-------] ago,_ Ba’vodu _had set up a small area for him to sleep in and just...patted his head and walked away. Time was spent staring at the blankets, staring at where_ Ba’vodu _had gone, and only barely just spent actually trying to sleep._

 _Grogu shifted his feet once, his claws scraping along the hard walls. He wondered if_ Ba’vodu _would let him sit by her for the night, ~~(~~_ ~~ _or if she’d be different from_ Buir~~ _ ~~, and if she’d be more like the Others from before).~~ _

_He almost didn’t want to check - didn’t think that it’d be worth the possible hurt, to try and gain some comfort in the night. He’d almost turned back, resigning himself to sitting quietly - as quietly as he can make himself - when a single thought stopped him._

Buir _had trusted_ Ba’vodu _._

 ~~ _( '_ _Only let your_ Ba’vodu ~~ _~~hear you.’)~~ _

_“Kriffing-”_ Ba’vodu _cut herself off, a pair of heavy breaths wheezing out of her lungs before she calmed herself. “You scared me, kid.”_

_Grogu hadn’t meant to. He found himself taking half a step back, diverting his gaze and staring at the ground._

_“No, kid, I-” Cara cut herself off with a grunt, and another sigh._

_There was a soft whisper of movement, a quick moment of hesitation, then Grogu found himself lifted up into the air, brought to_ Ba’vodu’s _chest as she stood - left to tilt his head backwards to meet her hurting gaze._

_Her hurting gaze._

_With every passing second,_ Ba’vodu _sounded more like she couldn’t breathe._

_“You know you look nothing like him,” she murmured softly - lightly stroking the line of his ears. “But every time I look at you, it’s like-”_

_Grogu reached forward, resting a tri-fingered hand on_ Ba’vodu _Cara’s slightly damp cheek._

 _A shaky breath passed. Then another, tinged with a sob. In a quick, sudden movement, Grogu was pressed into_ Ba’vodu’s _chest as she dropped to her knees._

…

Grogu wished he hadn’t let Master Luke throw out the food he stored.

( _"You’ll only attract pests with these, Grogu. If you’d like, I could replace the food after I throw it out.”)_

But nooooo, Grogu thought he was _safe_ , and that he wouldn’t _need it_.

He would’ve growled to himself, had the risk of being caught not still be in the air.

Though, maybe the risk _had_ gone down. Maybe the bad people had left. Grogu shuffled to the opening of the crevice, angling his head around the small space in any way that would let him see as much of his room without peeking out.

Or rather, what used to be his room. Ash and rubble coated nearly every inch, making every distinguishing feature almost unrecognizable. There was something that used to be a shelf where Master Luke had kept the books down low, so he could reach them. Where his window once was, there was a large gaping hole in the wall; successfully turning the window into a whole new door.

Morning light streamed through the window-turned-door, highlighting the stray straggling embers that remained.

Grogu would’ve shrunk back inside the crevice - waited a few hours more - if his gaze had not fell to the burnt remains of what used to be his bed.

And there, peeking out of a pile of ash and stone, a glint of familiar silver.

His breath caught, Grogu took one step forward, then another, then he was running out of his cover. The Force screamed at him to go back, to check to make sure to _stay calm_ but Grogu couldn’t, he couldn’t listen to the Force right now, he had to-

His hands were turned black with soot by the time he finally managed to fish the beskar out of the ruins. Wrapping his arms around the helmet in a large bear hug, he lifted and tugged with all his might to finally, finally drop it on the floor where the rubble had not covered.

Ash tickled his nose and he sneezed - an action that turned quickly into a heavy cough. He was so so thirsty, and hungry, and there was ash on his face but first-

First, Grogu wiped. He wiped and scrubbed as much as he could until finally, _Buir_ ’s helmet regained a semblance of its former glory.

_(‘Beskar is a metal like no other’)_

Grogu slid down to the ground, curling his knees up to his chest, leaning against the beskar. With a soot-covered hand, he fished through his equally spotty robes and curled his claws around the mythosaur pendant.

~~_(‘Why don’t you hold on to that for a while.’)_ ~~

…

Beroya _had left soon after. Grogu had wanted him to stay - he could talk to Master Luke, convince him to let_ Beroya _stay, please don’t go._

 _“This isn’t where I belong,_ Verd’ika _,”_ Beroya _had said gently. He hesitated, for a breath. “It can be where you belong, if you want it to.”_

_Grogu did want to. He’s learning so much, he’s getting so strong. Master Luke was warm and safe, and so was the Jedi Temple._

_The_ Beroya _patted a leather-clad hand on the top of his head. “This isn’t goodbye,”_ Beroya _said - insisted, really. “It’s not ret’urcye mhi. I will see you again one day.”_

 **Promise** , _Grogu begged, raising his hands to grab at the_ Beroya’s _._

_“I promise.”_

_Lessons went by in a sort of a blur. His mind kept straying back to the_ Beroya _, back to the familiar familiar T-visor. His claws kept straying to the mythosaur pendant he kept hidden beneath his robes._

_When the day had finally ended, and Grogu had his fill of dinner, and he was walking into the room with furniture that was still slightly too big for him. When he was about to clamber and climb up to his bed, did a sudden glint of light beneath it gave him pause._

_He dropped back down and ducked his head slightly down to crawl underneath, making to where - pushed to the far end where the bed backed against the wall - a familiar familiar familiar helmet stared back at him._

_That night, when Master Luke made his nightly rounds, panic would seize him briefly as his gaze fell on Grogu’s empty bed. The Jedi Master would pace around the room once before dropping to his knees, wide eyes scrounging the shadows beneath the bed._

_Wide eyes that softened, relaxed as they fell upon a familiar pair of ears, a blanket pulled up completely around something large - and Luke would hesitate reaching out for it, because for the first time since coming to the temple, Grogu had never looked more calm._

_…_

The door wouldn’t work. The actual door. Grogu had tried pushing it - and in nights before, it would swing open with ease. 

Now it barely budged a hint on its hinges.

Not the door then, Grogu decided. He turned in a spot, eyeing the fallen and ruined condition of what used to be somewhere he was safe. Soon, his gaze finally fell on the opposite wall, where the foundations had burnt and left with the gaping hole in what used to be a window.

That would work.

Hunger panged at his belly, and discomfort crawled up his throat. He was covered from head to toe in ash and soot, and he didn’t need the Force to tell him that whatever luck saved him before won’t be here for much longer.

He needed to leave.

Grogu didn’t have much that he wanted to bring. His books were gone. His blanket burnt. 

The beskar pendant was with him constantly, and he was not leaving _Buir_ ’s helmet a second time.

_(‘Stance wide, like this. Now hold your saber directly in-’)_

Almost as quickly as the thought came, Grogu dismissed it. The sabers wouldn’t be able to do much of anything, nowhere near as hot as Master Luke’s was.

He knew, because he’d checked. 

As far as Master Luke knew, it was on accident.

Master Luke was wise, but he didn’t know anything.

That only left the pendant, and the helmet. Or rather, just the helmet - the pendant was fine where it was, hung around his neck and hidden beneath his robes.

Grogu tilted his head, staring down at the helmet. He _could_ carry it, but every time he thought of venturing out with the helmet in his arms, the Force sparkled warningly and uneasiness grew. 

He needed something easier - something that still let him use his arms.

~~( _"I know this is a bit different from what you’re used to, but the bag doesn’t work good enough.”)_~~

Grogu blinked, slowly.

~~_(“You won’t fall from the sling,_ ner ad _. I’ll catch you if you do.”)_~~

After some fishing in the remaining ruins of his room, Grogu managed to find a tattered - but useable - long piece of fabric. His claws went to work; trying, securing, shouldering - until Grogu finally felt ready enough to climb the rubble hills and make his way out of the ruins.

So he did, taking a brief moment to pause on the top - to look down on everything; the grassy fields, the decline of the hill, and the stray wisps of smoke still in the air.

With his _Buir_ ’s helmet strapped securely to his back - a sort of metal, unusable backpack - Grogu climbed down the rubble. The feel of grass brushing against his feet was welcome and for the first time after the night, Grogu could _breathe_.

At least, until his focus fell back to the other huts - and realised the stray wisps of smoke weren’t that stray.

Fear was his immediate reaction, but The Child had hoped. He had _hope_. He wasn’t the biggest Youngling, definitely, but there were bigger crevices. Surely, he thought, his slow steps gaining speed as he ran down to the other huts, the tall grass whipping around his face.

 _Surely!_ Grogu thought, pleaded into the Force, as the huts-turned-ash grew larger and larger until he stood alone amongst burnt memories.

“Eh?” he called out - calling to anyone who would answer.

Silence was the only response.

His ears drooping, stifling another hoarse cough, Grogu slowly made his way over to the closest burnt hut. 

The huts were never anything fancy. They were for the older Younglings - their own personal spaces, put away from the younger ~~(or smaller)~~ ones that stayed in the temple. Grogu had trained with them - and they weren’t nearly as many as there were when Grogu lived in the Jedi Temple on what the Nice Lady called Coruscant but there were still _there_ and surely they could fight against the bad people.

They were strong. They were nearly as strong as Grogu.

Grogu stopped, a few paces away from the charred remains.

They weren’t as strong as Grogu. Grogu was stronger.

He fell backwards, to a sit - _Buir_ ’s helmet awkwardly positioned behind him.

The dark dark mess of soot, ash, and embers stared back at him - blurred in his vision. Grogu was stronger. All that talk about being able to help, _being able to protect_ , they were nothing and Grogu had _hidden_ when all the other Younglings were forced to fend for themselves.

~~_(‘Why must it be you?’)_ ~~

His soft, quiet sobs rang too loud amidst the silence.

Who else would it be?

_(‘It could be me,’ Master Luke had said, green green eyes so so worried - so so kind.)_

Master Luke-

Grogu’s limbs curled closer to his hurting hurting chest as he held himself.

_…_

_“Are you Marshall Cara Dune?”_

_Grogu could hear his_ Ba’vodu _take in a slow, deep breath. Then another. “I am,” she said, sounding choked._

_Grogu paused - the mythosaur pendant in his hands stilling. After a breath of hesitation, he shuffled to his feet and toddled slowly to peer around the corner._

_There, standing before_ Ba’vodu _at the front door, was a man who sang with the Force. Grogu watched, his breath caught in his chest, as the man pushed the hood of his head._

_“I was told I could find you here,” the man’s voice was warm and kind. “And...Grogu...?"_

Ba’vodu _didn’t answer - her disbelieving breaths still sounding too forced and controlled._

 _Grogu flicked his gaze to his_ Ba’vodu _, concerned. The man did too._

_“Sorry,” the man apologised. “I know this is probably sudden. Grogu had called out to me, through the Force. My name is-”_

_“Luke Skywalker,” Cara finished - still with that sort of breathless awe. “Leia Organa is your sister.”_

_The man - Luke Skywalker, Force Singer - blinked at his_ Ba’vodu _. “She is,” he said - sounding like he was about to chuckle. “May I...come in?”_

…

Grogu wasn’t sure how long he sat there. He only knew that the shadows had grown short - and the sun brighter - by the time he finally rose to his feet.

Or rather, struggled to. _Buir_ ’s helmet was a literal weight on his shoulders, but Grogu would never never never even think to leave it. He didn’t know where he was going - or if he’ll ever come back. He can’t leave it.

_(‘Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.’)_

Grogu walked until he could see all the no-longer-smoking huts at once. His chest still hurt hurt hurt as he stared at them and their emptiness, but he raised a hand upwards and closed his eyes.

The position is familiar. Often, this was how he’d use the force. His hand curled habitually, before he forced it to relax.

_(Slowly, gently, Beroya rested a gloved hand on top of Buir’s shiny metal helmet.)_

Slowly, gently, Grogu knelt down until he could press his hand against the grassy dirt.

 _(_ _‘N_ _i su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,’ Beroya murmured.)_

 _Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._ Grogu breathed.

He hoped the other younglings weren’t marching too far away.

He would’ve stayed there longer, had his lungs not spasmed and Grogu coughed. Water, he needed to drink and eat and he was so so thirsty and his chest hurt and so did his stomach.

Shakily, Grogu rose unsteadily to his feet - about to take a single step forward when the Force sparked.

It ignited.

It _sang_.

“Grogu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: Parent  
> Ba'vodu: Parent's Sibling (Aunt/Uncle)  
> Verd'ika: Private (rank); often used for little children. "Little Soldier" (Context is crucial)  
> Beroya: Bounty Hunter  
> Ner ad: "My son."  
> Jetiise: Jedi (pl.)  
> Ret'urcye mhi: "goodbye" (Lit. "maybe we'll meet again")  
> Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la: A Mandalorian saying for the dead. "Not gone, merely marching far away"  
> Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Mandalorian remembrance of the deceased. "I'm still alive, but you are dead, I remember you, so you are eternal."  
> I have never written Luke Skywalker ever.
> 
> So what do we know about Grogu's maturity rate.  
> We know he's 50 by the time Djarin finds him. We know at that point he acts like barely more than a 1 year old - although I do think that's just because of the sheer t r a u m a he's received at such a young age. I personally headcanon that two years had passed between season 1 and season 2 (which should be enough for Greef Karga's beard to grow white and for Nevarro be 'properly cleaned up'. You don't clean up a town like that overnight) so that puts Grogu has 52 during the second season.  
> In the span of 2 years, we've seen him adapt to being in Djarin's care - and seen him grow more confident and intelligent and mischeivous. That's just 2 YEARS in the care of a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter who cares very much but also lives life constantly on the run.  
> Imagine the progress he could make on a planet that's safe, secure, and under the care of Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Master.  
> My first instinct was to convert Grogu Years to Human Years by the tens. Fifty years is five years, sixty years is six years. BUT, this means that Yoda the Jedi Master became a Jedi Master at the mere age of ten, and that won't work out. After a lot of thinking and considering and hair pulling, I decided that maybe being an alien race that nobody knows about makes it so that converting Grogu Years to Human Years isn't as clean and simple as converting by the tens.  
> It's an answer I'm definitely not happy with and would probably continue to stew about for the next few weeks, but there you have it. For the purpose of this fic though, I'm definitely imagining Grogu as a ten-year old-ish equivalent.  
> God knows I might've butchered it though. If you cringe while reading it, I might actually understand.
> 
> Another note about Cara Dune. We know she'd never hurt the baby. We know she'd never let anyone hurt the baby. We know she would defend the baby with her dying breath, if not FOR the baby himself then for the memory of her friend Djarin.  
> But in the end, she is still Marshal Cara "Don't Do the Baby Thing" Dune. There's a REASON she doesn't do the baby thing. Lord knows she probably tried her best with Grogu, but she still doesn't do the baby thing. It's rough, it's awkward, but she tries her best and she loves Grogu but being a caretaker is not who she is, for whatever reason her character went through. She also just lost a very good friend - and she's hurt, and grieving, and now suddenly she has to take care of the equally hurt and grieving son of said good friend. Basically, Dune needs a break - they all do.  
> (disclaimer, I am talking about CARA DUNE, the character, and not her actress. Go to town with her actress)
> 
> Galaxy's Greatest Bounty Hunter went to visit his Verd'ika one day and found nothing. Galaxy's Greatest Bounty Hunter dropped everything and launched himself into the search for the Jetii who stole his Verd'ika. You cannot convince me Boba Fett cannot find Luke's Jedi School when Grogu is on the line.


	2. what's the softest way to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'you took away my friend, my buddy.'
> 
> Of grief, of explanations, of fights, and of droid(s).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: "okay, so if I can fit everything into three chapters-"  
> this chapter alone: "three? three chapters? you think you can fit everything you have planned into a measly three chapters? you fool? you gremlin?"
> 
> anyway I love all of you and your kind words <333 last chapter i brought you pain. today? even more pain.
> 
> mando'a translations in the end.

Luke Skywalker, Force Singer, sang a different song that night.

_(“Ben! No!”)_

A song of regret and of shame.

_(“Artoo- Artoo, the Younglings-“)_

Of pain, of grief.

“…Grogu?”

And now, with the sun above his head, with the burnt smoking remains of huts that housed innocent children under his care – he sang a song, finally, of relief.

“Grogu!” Luke dropped to his knees more than knelt; his lips stretched in a wide, disbelieving smile. His joints would ache at him later, so too would the rest of his body, and the bottom of his robes was practically ruined with soot and tears to the point beyond repair but _Grogu_ -

He lived.

He survived.

Grogu turned around, dark brown eyes widening at the sight of him and – with his own relieved cry _(enough to make Luke start sobbing right then and there)_ , the Youngling ran towards him, leaping into his outstretched arms.

“Grogu-“ Luke gasped, because he _had_ started crying the moment the very real weight of his very first student pressed against him. “I’m so _so_ glad to see you- I- Force be kind-“

He would mention the burnt huts later. He would mention the Beskar Mandalorian Helmet Grogu carried even later. He would drop to his knees and beg for Grogu’s forgiveness – for not being able to protect him, as was his kriffing _job_ -

But now, right now, this youngling was covered with soot and ash and goodness knows what else. Luke felt Grogu cough into his robes – a heavy, wracking, _painful_ sound that shattered his heart all over again.

“I got you,” Luke murmured, slowly – struggling – rising to his feet. Grogu wasn’t as small as he was when Luke had found him, but he was still able to fit comfortably in his arms. “I got you.”

Luke Skywalker, Force Singer, sang a song of promise.

* * *

Grogu had downed the first cup of water offered to him. And then the next. Then the one after that.

“Slow down,” Master Luke murmured as when he choked on the fourth. Grogu didn’t find a hint of reprimand in his tone – and decided then it was safe to ignore him, gulping down the sweet, relieving liquid in record time.

Sat beside him, _Buir’s_ helmet was a comforting presence. Grogu eyed the last straggling drops in his cup and – with only half a second’s thought – poured them onto the _beskar_ and wiped away the last of the soot with his robes. The Force sang with his satisfaction at seeing _Buir’s_ helmet properly cleaned up and shining.

Master Luke sat on his other side, head turned to face him, his own face smudged with soot and exhaustion. But he was smiling – just softly; his eyes were shining – just lightly. The Force around him was sparking and crackling like warm fire-

Grogu lowered the cup into his lap. He didn’t want to think about fire anytime soon.

His teacher had carried him all the way across what felt like the _whole planet_. Grogu didn’t think he’d ever strayed this far away from the temple before. They walked for what felt like ages _~~(and if Grogu had fallen asleep, cradled against the safety of his teacher; well nobody needed to know).~~_

When he awoke, Grogu was leaning against _Buir’s_ helmet, beneath the wings of an oddly familiar white and orange ship. It was small, old but well kept, ~~_(nowhere as large as how the Crest had been, with his_ Buir _)_~~ and its wings…

_(Luke Skywalker had a warm chuckle. “Ever ridden an x-wing before?” he teased gently as the ship rose from the lava flats and into the air – and Grogu watched, with fascinated wide eyes, as the wings opened.)_

Master Luke stared down at Grogu for a bit longer, then he patted his head and leaned back, staring into the small campfire; a flame that burned beneath an empty pot, made more for comfort rather than for light.

Although comfort didn’t look like it liked coming, and with every second that passed Master Luke’s eyes grew darker.

Pained.

The smile slipped from his teacher’s face.

Grogu tapped his claws against the cup, staring at his teacher through the corner of his eyes. “Ah…?” he called out softly – wincing at the way his voice grated at his still-sore throat.

Master Luke paused, blinking slowly as he pulled his gaze _(finally)_ away from the fire. “You shouldn’t speak,” he murmured softly, eyes narrowing by a fraction.

Grogu narrowed his eyes right back. Master Luke was ignoring his question, and they both knew it.

They _did_ both know it – Master Luke knew it more, and the Force rippled with his discomfort. He dropped his gaze but didn’t return it to the fire, staring instead at the dirt between them, and was silent for what felt like the longest time.

“You’re the only one I found…” the confession was soft-spoken, but the weight it had on Grogu’s little heart was immense.

“Grogu-“ Master Luke’s protest was cut off on its own as Grogu turned his head away, choosing to stare out at the grassy fields instead of anywhere near the Jedi Master. “Grogu…” Master Luke tried again.

Grogu didn’t turn back – resolutely staring ( ~~glaring~~ ) across the field. Leaning against _Buir’s_ helmet – a comfort he didn’t deserve.

The only one. The last one.

How bitterly familiar.

He was supposed to be strong. He was the first one Master Luke had found. He had seen each and every one of the other Younglings arrive – he had _been_ there, for each and every Youngling as they got used to the first night of living in the Jedi Temple. He was-

Grogu was older, bigger now, but he was still small – still able to be picked up. Master Luke did just that now; although, rather than lift him up, Grogu was pulled to lean against his teacher’s thigh.

A breath of hesitation, then the arms around him disappeared – replaced by a gentle, hand on his head – a sorrowful comfort.

Grogu ground his teeth together, his claws twisting in the fabric of his robes. The field blurred in his vision and his cheeks were wet with hot, fresh tears.

But he bit back his cries. He refused – he refused he refused he _refused_ – to let a single sound of anguish slip out of him. He curled his limbs as close as they could go, bowing his head so low his chin touched his chest and he _held_.

He held. And it _hurt_.

Grogu stayed like that for a long time ( _too long_ ) – watching as the shadows grew longer and as the need for the light of the campfire grew.

Unmoving. Soundless. Grieving.

Eventually, the hand on his head began patting in a slow, steady rhythm.

_Pat, pat, pat._

Grogu was supposed to be stronger.

_Pat, pat, pat._

Grogu was supposed to be the one who protected them-

_Pat, pat, pat._

He was supposed to-

_Pat, pat, pat._

~~_(Buir's touch was always gentle, always kind, and always full of the brightest, biggest, warmest feelings; and Grogu leaned into the gentle touch on his head, gurgling softly in contentment)_ ~~

“…better?” Master Luke asked, his voice softer than the softest breeze, when Grogu finally allowed himself to move. When Grogu finally began to relax, leaning against his teacher. When he finally allowed himself to breathe, his shoulders lowering, his grip loosening.

_Pat, pat, pat._

Grogu blinked away the blurriness of his tears, and for the first time finally, they weren’t immediately replaced. With a soft sigh lost to the crackling fire, he wiped at his face for what would not be the _last_ time, but a good step in the direction.

In the Force, Grogu finally let himself acknowledge the gentle prodding that had been there ever since Master Luke pulled him close. After a second’s breath of consideration, he closed his eyes – more out of exhaustion than a need to focus – and let himself in.

Force sharing went two-ways. For every piece Grogu received, he’d shared.

_Master Luke watched as Grogu sat alert as the fire began._

_Grogu watched as his teacher called out sorrowfully amidst a sea of ash and debris._

_Master Luke watched as Grogu hid in the crevice._

_Grogu watched as his teacher checked every mound of debris again and again and again and again-_

As much as it was capable, emotions were kept in check during Force sharings. Too much and it began to be overwhelming. Stray wisps of emotions were strictly not to be followed.

But amidst the _relief relief relief_ of Master Luke’s _pain pain pain_ , there was also an underlying of-

_Shame._

The Force sparked a warning. Grogu knew better, he knew he knew better. Master Luke knew he knew better. Master Luke had been kind enough not to follow the stray wisps of emotions that _Grogu_ had, so that should be enough for Grogu to-

Shame?

What would Master Luke ever have to be ashamed about?

The Force ignited and Master Luke cried out on the other side of the Force, but Grogu had already gone.

_(Ben Solo. Sleeping. Dreaming. At rest. In pain.)_

_(Green saber. Fear. Anger. Shame.)_

_(Blue saber. Pleas. The Force slamming against him-)_

Grogu wrenched back – both physically and tearing away from the Force. He rose to his feet and staggered away a few steps, but the full force of panic panic panic unbalanced him and he toppled backwards, knocking over _Buir’s_ helmet as he did.

Wide eyes never leaving his teacher’s face.

Luke Skywalker had his own shocked expression, growing in his eyes and with his mouth. His eyes blinked multiple times, with his jaw parted just slightly. The Jedi closed his mouth, then opened it again.

“Your father was a Mandalorian?”

For every piece Grogu received, he’d shared.

Slowly at first, then quickly, he felt the shock crumble, giving way to a feeling he’s been warned against so so many times.

Rage.

“I guess the helmet makes sense now…” Master Luke muttered. “I-“

_You attacked him._

The accusation rings clear in the Force – unflinching, unable to be ignored. Bright, glaring, angry.

Hurt.

Master Luke blinked – the shocked expression shifting into a similar one of horror. “Grogu-“

_You attacked him!_

The campfire went out with a single whoosh.

_You attacked him in his sleep!_

“Grogu-!”

_You were supposed to protect us!_

Grogu forced himself to his feet – his whole weight put into his blazing glare. Around him, the Force writhed and spasmed and _burned_.

“Grogu, please-“ Master Luke shifted to his knees, his hands held out placatingly before him. “I was supposed to protect you. I was. And I’ve failed, so so miserably, but please-“

Master Luke was staring at him, but it was like he was staring at something through him, because the fear in his worried eyes made no sense, because Grogu wasn’t the one who attacked Ben Solo – Grogu wasn’t.

“Grogu!” Master Luke screamed at him, his arms raised to shield his head. “Listen to me, please listen to me, _don’t listen to what it says!_ ”

What it says.

What who says?

Says what?

There, that one breath of hesitation, of thought – and the whispers that were _screaming_ at him disappeared. The silence is a deafening change, weighing heavily on his head.

~~_(‘Come on, ner ad, breathe.’)_ ~~

Grogu drew in a breath; eyes, ears, blinking, twitching rapidly-

The _thrum, thrum, thrum_ of his heart.

Grogu breathed out, and the campfire sputtered back to life.

Master Luke flickered through a whole gallery of emotions – _relief, fear, panic, guilt, relief, caution, hope_ – before finally settling on just _open open open_. He shifted on his knees, his arms parted open-

And then, Grogu realised that his teacher was crying.

Grogu had never seen Luke Skywalker cry. Skywalker was his teacher – strong, wise, unyielding, protecting.

~~_(Grogu had never seen his Buir cry. Buir was his father; strong, wise, unyielding, protecting, protecting, protecting, protecting protecting)_ ~~

“I know- I know it doesn’t look like you can trust me right now,” Master Luke tilted his palms towards him – a universal sign of peace. “But please, Grogu, let me explain.”

His teacher’s eyes were open open open. The Force – the song around him – sang of pleas and of promises.

Grogu breathed in.

~~_(‘You’re very special kid, we’re gonna find that place you belong,’)_ ~~

Grogu breathed out.

~~_(‘And they’re gonna take real good care of you.’)_ ~~

* * *

By the time Master Skywalker had explained everything, night had comfortably settled. A soft breeze carried with it the silence, rustling through the grass and settling into Grogu’s bones.

Some time through Master Skywalker’s explanation, Grogu had gathered enough bravery to inch closer. Not to the Jedi Master specifically, but more towards his _Buir’s_ helmet – which he rightened, and leaned against. The _beskar_ helmet acted as a buffer between him and his teacher; he was grateful for it.

Finally, the Jedi Master fell silent – and Grogu bothered not to break it. Not yet.

_(‘I sensed it building in him.’)_

_Ben Solo. At rest. In pain._

Nightmares weren’t anything Grogu was new to.

_(‘I was left with shame…and with consequences.’)_

_Blue saber. Pleas. The weight of the Force against him-_

Grogu snapped his gaze towards his teacher – startling both of them with the suddenness of his glare.

_You were supposed to teach him._

Luke Skywalker, slowly, bowed his head – pulling away his gaze. “I know,” he murmured – confessed, solemnly. Shamefully. “I don’t…I don’t know why I-“

His teacher cut his own words off. He’d barely moved at all throughout his explanation, and was still sat on his knees. Idly, Grogu wondered if he felt sore from staying still for too long.

Then Grogu wondered why it mattered.

Master Luke was supposed to be the one to protect them.

~~_(Grogu was supposed to be the one to protect them.)_ ~~

Master Luke was supposed to be the one to save them.

~~_(Grogu was supposed to be the one to save them.)_ ~~

Master Luke-

~~_(Grogu-)_ ~~

A different rustling, one that wasn’t from the wind, crackled through the grass behind him. Almost instantly, the Force around him went _fear fear fear_ and Grogu whipped around, slamming his back against the beskar of _Buir’s_ helmet with enough force to nearly toppling them both over.

Yet as soon as he turned, the Force shifted from _fear fear fear_ to _safe_ as Artoo beeped concernedly down at him.

Artoo. Grogu remembered times between, before, after classes. Of walking by one another, exchanging chirrs and beeps.

His ears pricked upwards at the relieving sight. _Of course_ , Artoo never left Master Skywalker’s side. He wouldn’t have been in the temple if Master Skywalker hadn’t been in there either. Not for the first time, Grogu wished Artoo could hear him in the Force – though that didn’t even begin to stop him from projecting _safe safe glad you’re okay_.

And maybe Artoo wasn’t that oblivious to the Force after all. A mechanical arm was extended towards him, and Grogu quickly grabbed onto it – relieved for the physical confirmation that the mech was here.

“Artoo,” Master Skywalker sounded just as relieved as Grogu felt. Grogu turned his head, eyeing the Jedi Master as he finally shifted off his knees and onto his feet. “Did you-?”

The cut-off question, a too-long silence, the solemn beeps.

Grogu’s heart sank.

“No one?” Master Skywalker’s fragile hope was shattered, and the shards were there in his voice.

If Artoo could sigh, that beep was it.

Master Skywalker swayed on his feet and Grogu, despite himself, didn’t stop himself from turning. The Force rippled and strained and seemed to _cry_ around his teacher, and it was an uncanny sight, paired with fiercely controlled expressions on his face.

Master Luke breathed in.

Artoo rolled forward, coming to a stop by Grogu’s side – mechanical arm extended towards the Jedi Master, reaching out.

Master Luke breathed out.

“Can you,” Master Luke nodded towards Grogu, his eyes shifting and unshifting out of focus. “I need a mo-“

With not another word, his teacher whipped around – robes whirling around him as he moved – and made his way through the fields.

* * *

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._

Grogu paused, lifting his head to meet the lights of the mech beside him. Artoo whirred questioningly, the light of the campfire behind them shining against his metal.

On Grogu’s other side, _Buir’s_ helmet stood, always there.

For the first time in the past two days, Grogu felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. He cooed gently, briefly pressed his side against the metal of the mech – letting the familiarity of the almost-hug act as comfort, on both sides.

Above head, the stars twinkled down at them – at the mech, who stared down at The Child, who in turn had a tri-fingered hand pressed down through the grass, onto the dirt.

Grogu has done this, every night, for the past 19 years, without fail. Before Master Skywalker, before the gift beneath his bed, before the fire, before the deaths.

In 19 years, the sole night he’d failed to commit to the ritual was just the night before. Huddled in the crevice of his wall, watching the fires rage on the other side, hiding from enemies who wished him harm. Begging to live, praying to survive – silent.

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._

Grogu, now, decided that he had amends to make. Amends, and additions.

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Buir._

~~_(‘You did it! I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you kid.’)_ ~~

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ , Grogu paused, _Aleia._

_(Aleia was a bright, cheerful addition to the Younglings. A refreshing, child-pure expression that never failed to greet everyone that had the fortune to meet her.)_

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Jhan._

_(Jhan reminded him of a rock in one of the nearby streams. Xe never faltered, never swayed, never seemed to remember that Master Skywalker’s meals were hazardous at best, and that it was always a better decision to eat whatever Artoo provided.)_

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Sam._

_(Sam on the other hand, always remembered the delight of Artoo’s treats. Never seemed to be able to forget, actually. Always first in line at dinner, always first to share. ‘It’s no fun when you’re the only one who can enjoy ‘em.’)_

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Wern._

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Lhin._

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Nusa._

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum...Ben Solo._

_Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._

The mech, the fields, the beskar, and the stars grieved with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: Parent  
> Beskar: Mandalorian Iron  
> Ner ad: "My son."  
> Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Mandalorian remembrance of the dead. "I am still alive, but you are dead, I remember you, so you are eternal."
> 
> Maybe it's just me, but I never see a lot of people talking about the tragedy of Luke's Jedi Temple. Full of Children. That burned. With no survivors. Come on-  
> also am I the only one who derives comfort from repetitive motion? is it just me? am I weird?


	3. please let the devil in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of ships, of decisions, of messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH. I actually thought this chapter might be short. I actually thought I might have to apologise for a short chapter. I need to stop having such high hopes for myself.
> 
> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE KIND WORDS LITERALLY I VIBE WITH THEM AND I LOVE THEM SM <33
> 
> its kinda late and I should be asleep by now. do as I say, not as I do.
> 
> Mando'a translations at the end.

_Fire. Black and white walls. Blaster lights. Smoke and ash._

_Footsteps. Running. Hiding._

_Grogu launched himself at the grates, watching as, out of the safety of the crevice,_ Buir _– his father - fought with fire._

_Orange tongues of heat licked at his beskar armour, at his unhelmeted head, and Grogu could_ feel _the scorching pain it had on his_ Buir _. He cried out, claws wrapped around the bars of the grates, but could only watch – helplessly – as his father exchange blows with the wrath of it; ducking, sweeping, shooting._

_At some point, the flames parted, and Ben Solo joined the battle. He fought alongside his_ Buir _, protecting the Younglings while the Mandalorian worked on extinguishing the red-orange, ever-growing fires._

_They looked like they were winning – and Grogu knew he should be relieved, for any moment now_ Buir _would defeat the last of the flames, and then he would come to get Grogu from the crevice, and they would be-_

_Ben Solo whipped out a blaster and shot his father in the head._

_There was a high-pitched scream as_ Buir _dropped to his knees and fell, and it took too long for Grogu to realise that it came from his own throat. The only reason why he ever realised it was because – as Ben Solo turned around to shoot each of the Younglings in turn – Grogu screamed louder._

_Finally, the only ones left were the two of them. Grogu, behind grated bars. Ben Solo, with a stone expression._

_The fire that raged on, unstoppable._

_“Remember, Grogu,” said Ben Solo. “Tatooine.”_

_Grogu’s only answer for him was another scream._

_“Tatooine, Grogu.” Ben Solo’s eyes sharpened. “Grogu. Grogu!”_

“Grogu!? Where are you?”

With a start, Grogu woke up – disoriented with the lack of familiar walls and soft bedding beneath him. Instead, the walls were closely packed, there was thin padding beneath him, and a T-shaped window directly above his head.

No, not a window. Visor.

“ _Grogu?!”_

With another jolt, he shimmied out of his chosen sleeping spot in the night before – namely, _Buir_ ’s helmet. The blanket he had awkwardly wrapped around him was dragged along as he struggled to uncurl his legs and get them on dirt and grass.

A soft grunt, then he finally managed to pop out of the small space he’d stubbornly stuffed himself into. For a brief moment, his disorientation only spiked and Grogu stood blinking, blearily, at the bright morning light – one that framed the worried and panicked face of Master Luke.

Master Luke had a hand resting on his saber on his belt – although what he wanted to do with it looked to be lost on both Grogu _and_ the Jedi Master himself. His eyes were wide as he stared down at The Child, mouth slightly agape.

Grogu reached down to pick up the blanket Artoo gave him the night before –all the while Master Luke glanced between him and the helmet many, many times.

The Jedi Master released a short huff of air - a soft sound of disbelief. “Did you sleep in that thing?” One metal hand pointed towards the helmet.

Grogu tilted his head backwards slightly, then forward in a quick nod.

“How-“ Master Luke blinked, then he leaned back with his arms raised in surrender. “Is that a thing you’re gonna do now then? Sleep in the helmet?”

Grogu blinked, glancing back towards the mentioned _beskar_ – eyeing through his peripheral vision the way Master Luke squatted down closer to the ground.

When Grogu turned to properly face his teacher, Master Luke seemed to be already drifting off in thought. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were pursed tightly together; blue gaze never leaving that of _Buir_ ’s helmet, and Grogu could almost see its reflection his eyes.

Grogu hesitated, for a breath. Then, pushing down the last remnants of the nightmare, he let himself reach out to his teacher through the Force.

Master Luke’s shoulders stiffened, just barely noticeably.

_Surprise_ was the first thing to bounce back to Grogu, and he couldn’t help but share the Jedi Master’s sentiment. He didn’t think he’d be inclined to reach out through the Force this quickly after what happened just the night before.

Grogu’s question was clear. For every piece you that receive through the Force, a piece you’d have to give.

_What did you see?_

Luke’s lips turned into a thin line. The silence stretched.

Grogu frowned, about ready to gather his strength and push forward with his question when the Jedi Master’s walls suddenly fell and he-

_-looked up, ears twitching, arms reaching out towards a helmet of shining beskar. A T-Visor that, by all means, should’ve been unreadable, instead radiated warmth and dare Grogu label it, love._

_“Hey, ner ad.” Grogu purred at the feel of_ Buir _’s gloves stroking the line of his ears. “…do you understand what that means? Ner ad?”_

_A crooning chirr, and the tightening of arms around him._

_“I-“_ Buir _paused, taking in a deep metallic breath. “It means you’re my son.”_

“Grogu.”

Grogu blinked. Quickly, he rubbed at his damp cheeks – pointedly ignoring the blurry image of Master Skywalker’s face staring down at him.

“You two looked like you were…close,” Master Luke said, slowly. _Cautious cautious cautious_ radiated out of him like waves through the Force. “That’s his helmet?”

Grogu glanced towards the familiar familiar familiar _beskar,_ not bothering to hold in the sorrowful croon that bundled out of him. He had placed the helmet on its side as he slept in it, and now Grogu turned and worked on pulling the helmet upright again.

A soft thud of the earth and _Buir_ ’s helmet stood.

“I didn’t see a Mandalorian when I found you…” Master Skywalker drifted off.

Grogu didn’t fill the silence.

Whispers of shifting fabric and rustling grass. Grogu turned, blinking as his teacher straightened.

Master Skywalker sighed, staring at his feet and rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand. “Artoo should be done about now,” he murmured.

“Eh?” Grogu tilted his head, squinting slightly.

A series of beeps and whirrs behind him made him turn, watching as the mech came around the ship’s legs out from the other side. Artoo folded in his mechanical arm; tilting forward in a way that Grogu could only see as satisfaction.

“Already?” Master Skywalker moved past him. The sight of his teacher’s mechanical arm on his mech made for a sight. “Tryna beat your own personal record?” the words dripped with fondness.

Grogu moved forward too – but stopped before he walked past his father’s helmet. Instead, he bundled his claws in his robes, letting himself brush against the _beskar_ metal while his ears twitched and he desperately tried to figure out what was happening.

Artoo beeped at him, tilting backwards and forwards – beeping and whirring with such quick succession that Grogu was left to blink cluelessly.

_Space flight?_

Master Skywalker turned in a spot to glance back to him. “Artoo spent a good part of the morning preparing the ship.” Suddenly, his expression darkened and the Jedi Master couldn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t…we shouldn’t stay here for much longer…I have people I want to meet and-“

The Force around his teacher twisted and morphed into something that generally meant _pain_. _Pain, dread_ – and of course, _shame_.

Grogu eyed his teacher with a caution he’d never thought he’d use with the Jedi Master. The Child had spent a good portion of the night thinking about Skywalker’s explanation – and the confession of his failure.

Finally, right then and there, Grogu came upon his decision. He had lived with, trained with, the Jedi Master for a long time. If he had wanted to give Grogu over to the bad people, or if he _was_ the bad people in general, then Grogu would’ve known much, much earlier.

Skywalker’s intentions were pure.

His _abilities_ were something else entirely.

So without another second’s thought, Grogu picked up the piece of fabric still half-looped around his father’s helmet.

…

Master Luke’s X-Wing was smaller than Grogu remembered. Not by much, but it was still smaller. Grogu had pressed impressions of _shrunk_ onto Master Luke – and to his surprise, the Jedi Master had chuckled.

“I don’t think it’s my X-Wing that shrunk, Grogu,” the Jedi Master had said.

Grogu had frowned up at him, not catching onto whatever his teacher was implying. Grogu hadn’t shrunk, and he’d actually gotten quite bigger. Master Luke knew that, Grogu had made sure of it.

Just in case, Grogu made sure to remind his teacher that he was very much bigger now and older thank you – before he pulled back from The Force and settled somewhat comfortably in his spot on the Jedi Master’s lap.

_~~(The Razor Crest was once big enough that Grogu had his own seat. And his own hammock. And boxes for his toys and boxes that **were** his toys and…and it had ~~ _ ~~Buir.)~~

As a manner that was habit by now, Grogu felt his gaze and attention be dragged down to the floor of the ship. There hadn’t been enough space for Grogu to physically be next to _Buir_ ’s helmet, so the Jedi Master had cautiously – casting glances at him almost every second – set the helmet down by their feet.

It was still close by. He wouldn’t lose it in the ship. It wasn’t as if it was going to vanish if he took his eyes off of it for half a second. _Buir_ ’s helmet would be fine.

_He_ would be fine.

Grogu hadn’t been in a ship for…a while. When he arrived at the Jedi Temple to train, most of his time was spent, well, training. Learning how to pilot a ship wasn’t strictly in any Jedi lesson plan that he knew of.

Master Luke might say differently though. Grogu figured there’s probably a reason he was named _‘Skywalker’_.

Artoo’s chirrs came through a speaker on the very large board of buttons and dials. Grogu watched as his teacher listened to them intently, before nodding and pressing more buttons and flicking more dials.

_( ~~Grogu watched as his~~_ ~~Buir _eyed the coordinates, before nodding to himself and pressing more buttons and flicking more dials. At least, Grogu tried to watch; his gaze kept getting drawn to the silver ball on the lever.)_~~

…where _was_ that silver ball?

The ship shuddered and Grogu’s stomach dropped in a way that was _exhilarating_. He chirred, leaning forward and watching as the ground beneath them grew further and further away. His eyes widened gradually after every passing second they were in the air; and by the time the fields beneath them had become one giant mass of green, his eyes were wider than the moon.

Master Skywalker chuckled again, giving Grogu the impression that he wasn’t the only one to enjoy being up in the air.

“Set coordinates to Coruscant.”

The stars blurred.

…

They had been in hyperspace for at least ten minutes before Master Luke leaned back in his chair. Grogu tilted his head backwards, blinking at the Jedi Master.

Master Luke huffed a short breath of air. “It’ll take us at least five hours to get there,” blue eyes blinked slowly, “I know you just woke up, so are you hungry?”

Grogu was always hungry.

He chirred softly, shifting to face his teacher so that he wouldn’t have to cran his neck to watch as Master Luke lean sideways. His teacher rummaged in a pack that had already been there when Grogu came into the ship – with a soft sound of half-satisfaction, pulling out very familiar food packets.

_(‘ ~~Sorry kid. I know they don’t taste well, but ration bars are all we have at the moment.’)~~_

“Not sure if you ever ate a ration bar before,” Master Luke said. He blinked and snorted to himself. “I mean, you probably have. Aren’t Mandalorians bounty hunters?”

Grogu grabbed at the ration bar, holding it in both hands. For the longest time, he just stared at the familiar familiar packaging in silence…his mind not quite registering whatever Master Luke was saying about having met other Mandalorians before and ‘ _I really hope your dad wasn’t like, friends with the guy I met, cause that’d have been pretty awkward, oh my god I can’t believe your dad was a Mandalorian-’_ , and-

“Buhhh,” Grogu crooned softly.

Master Luke was quiet, for a while. “Grogu?”

The Child held his breath, then expelled in a quick motion – shaking his head vigorously; the motion brought with an air of finality. He dug his claws into the wrapper and began work peeling it off.

The Force twisted around him – wrapping and flowing, breathing and sparking, rushing and sighing.

There, just beneath it, was just the distinct feel of prodding at the corners of his senses.

Grogu ignored it, tearing down the ration bar wrapper and biting down at the tasteless excuse of a meal like it was the most fascinating and attention-requiring task he’d ever done. Bite down, bite off, chew, swallow.

Bite down, bite off, chew, swallow.

Repeat.

As he ate, the prodding in the Force grew more insistent – and subsequently, Master Luke’s chewing grew slower. The Jedi Master’s gaze was unfocused as he stared at something beyond the ration bar.

Grogu narrowed his eyes, slightly, as the prodding reached levels he could not ignore. It grated against his senses and, while it did not outright scream for his attention, definitely did not let him forget it was there.

Finally – after one particularly firm nudge – Grogu bit down at his ration bar and, at the same time, slammed down against the insistent nudge.

_Hard_.

The snap of the ration bar and the slight flinch of the Jedi Master paired together – only to be the opening act of a long play of silence.

Guilt writhed in Grogu’s stomach, settling uncomfortably with the ration bar that did _not_ taste like dirt because dirt had actually tasted a lot better. He dropped his hands and the half-eaten ration bar into his lap. After a bit, he twisted around in his spot; keeping his back to the Jedi Master, unable to meet his gaze.

There he sat, for a second – two, three, four. Silent, guilty, tired. It didn’t matter that he just woke up, he felt like falling asleep all over again, just because he didn’t have to _think_ when he was asleep. He was just so, so tired and he just wanted to go _home_ and-

But Grogu was home. No, this wasn’t home. It was the best thing he had to it.

_( ~~The Crest was the best thing; the closest thing that he had to home.)~~_

Grogu stiffened just slightly as a warm hand crept up the top of his head. Master Luke stroked the line of his ears gently – the touch grounding, calming, simple yet so very effective that Grogu didn’t stop himself from leaning against it, sighing softly.

“Sorry Grogu,” Master Luke murmured.

Grogu blinked and whipped his head around, eyebrows furrowing. _Master Luke_ was apologising? For what? Grogu was the one who’d-

“Your past, your relationship with your father…it’s none of my business.” His teacher raised both his hands up in surrender, one of them still half-clutching the ration bar. His eyes, slightly wider, filled with promises of understanding. “I won’t ask, I promise.”

Grogu’s ears twitched and he blinked, slowly.

An eternity in two seconds ticked by and Grogu felt himself sigh. He sighed again and let himself lean back against his teacher - an act he hasn’t done since the first few days Master Luke had brought him to the Jedi Temple and he sought comfort after _eventful_ nights of sleep.

Now, it was almost familiar; albeit the dirty conditions of both their clothes made it slightly less comfortable.

Grogu found he didn’t mind.

The Jedi Master shifted slightly in his chair, finding a way to twist his arm and bring it back atop his head. The very real, very warm weight on his head. The very real, very warm Jedi Master with him.

Grogu took a slow bite out of his ration bar.

…

A pull in his stomach woke him up.

Grogu started slightly, blinking at the no longer blurry lines of stars outside the windows. His hand was empty and he could just slightly see his half-eaten ration bar on the floor – thankfully, away from _Buir_ ’s helmet.

“We’re here,” Master Luke’s words slurred in a subtle, drowsy way. Grogu could feel him stretch his legs underneath him. “Hold still,” said his teacher, sounding much more awake, “it might get a bit bumpier from here.”

It was bumpy.

And Grogu enjoyed every _second_ of it.

The descent into Coruscant. The gradual growth of a forest of buildings. The way Master Skywalker’s X-Wing shuddered just slightly as they flew amidst a sky full of _so many_ ships. Grogu cooed and chirred, his eyes wide and an almost gleeful smile on his face as his teacher had to pilot his way through ships and ships and _even more ships_ – more than once, Master Luke had to roughly jerk the throttle to the side to avoid narrowly colliding with another ship.

( _ ~~Grogu cheered, hands clutched around blue cookies, while~~_ ~~Buir _piloted the ship up into the air, higher and higher and higher. “Hold on, Ner ad,” his father murmured. The Bad People’s ship was in front of them and_ Buir _was chasing them down until finally, his father fired and the ship exploded in a glorious show of fire and debris.)_~~

Master Skywalker had an air of quiet, diluted triumph about him when they finally managed to land the ship. Grogu could see a mess of levels beneath them as they’d flown by, and the sun rose up in the sky above them. Which was weird, because Grogu remembered morning not being that long ago.

His teacher flew the ship into one of the buildings – into a huge cut-out space filled with so many other ships and so many other _people_. Sounds of machinery whirring, sparks flying, people chattering; so, so different from the wide, peaceful, but empty fields around the Jedi Temple and Grogu found his chest aching just slightly.

He breathed in, deep and long, and the ache subsided slightly.

Grogu chirred softly, turning his head - wide eyes filled glee and excitement, ones that sobered at the sight of his teacher’s hesitation. At the feel of his teacher’s inner turmoil. At the way the Force writhed around him in _pain pain pain_.

Grogu frowned. He rested a hand on the cloth of his teacher’s shirt, eyebrows furrowing.

Master Luke breathed out a slow ( _pained)_ breath.

Grogu’s ears twitched and drooped, just slightly. A second passed, then he grabbed at the Force and held it to still – trying his utmost best at sending concern, reassurance, _it’s okay_ , _what’s wrong_?

“Luke!”

Grogu jumped slightly, his hand dropping, head swivelling around to peer out the windows. His eyes widened as they fell upon a familiar woman – clean grey dress, a smile on her kind face, her hair in an updo on her head and flanked by guards on both her side.

Master Luke shifted beneath him. His teacher grabbed him and held him close to his chest, standing up from his seat and making his way out of the ship.

Grogu started, twisted, reached for his father’s helmet which was still on the ground near the seat-

Master Luke stepped out of the ship, into the light, and climbed down the steps to face his sister.

“Isn’t this a surprise,” Leia Organa teased. “Not even a holo to tell me you were coming?”

Grogu whined softly, reaching back towards the ship, struggling and pushing against the Jedi Master – finally – lowered him down onto the ground.

“He’s in a hurry,” Madam Organa – Senator Organa – huffed behind him as he ran back to the ship. “Is…something wrong, Luke?” was the last thing Grogu heard before he was back into the depths of the X-Wing.

There, right where he left it, perfectly fine and safe, _Buir_ ’s helmet waited. Grogu chirred softly, a half-apology, as he grabbed the tearing piece of fabric and heaved the _beskar_ onto his shoulders. It was heavy, it was big and awkward, but it was comforting – Grogu released a long sigh, feeling that ache in his chest fade away even more.

_Buir_ ’s helmet on his back slowed him down somewhat, but Grogu found himself moving slower anyway. The Force inside of the X-Wing was charged up, thick and tense; Grogu hesitated at stepping outside of the ship for fear that it might be-

Grogu stood at the doorway of the ship, staring down with his eyes wide at the sight of his teacher on his knees.

_“I’m sorry,”_ Luke Skywalker cried. His hands held up in the air above him, reaching for his sister – Leia Organa, who stared down at him with her own tears streaming down her face, making no effort to grab onto her brother’s hands.

_“I’m so sorry.”_

…

Senator Organa gave them a room to stay in. She said nothing else to them, just gave them a room and walked off.

Grogu hoped she’d be okay. He liked Senator Organa. She would come to visit Ben Solo in the Jedi Temple at times, and Grogu always found her to be a refreshing presence.

_Oh_. Grogu blinked, his ears drooping, gaze dropping.

Ben Solo was her son.

Did Master Skywalker tell her he died in the fire? Or did he tell her that her son had started the fire?

Oddly, the Force warred against Grogu’s urge to ask.

Grogu stopped his pacing. He flopped down, sighing and leaning against _Buir_ ’s helmet.

He’d walked around the large semi-circular room since the very moment they got here – letting his hand drift across the walls and furniture and soft curtains and carpets – leaving small soot smears everywhere. He had found a small, light blue blanket in one of the cabinets that felt like he was touching the air itself, quickly stashing it around _Buir_ ’s helmet for safe keeping.

Grogu held the blanket now in his hands, purring softly at the gentle feel of the fabric. He settled more comfortably on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and draping the blanket over them – covering them completely.

His ears twitched at the sound of a barely concealed sigh – one that did not come from himself. Grogu turned his head, watching and eyeing the unmoving mound of soot-covered robes on the large bed. Artoo beeped from where he stood next to the Jedi Master; a low, comforting ( _yet sorrowful_ ) sound.

Master Luke had laid down on the bed since the moment they got here. He hasn’t moved an inch. Artoo beeped again, then sighed in that mechanical way of his before he moved away from the unmoving Jedi Master.

Grogu sighed, chirring at the mech as Artoo rolled over to him. Force-sensitive or not, Grogu’s pointed head-jerk was clear.

_Is he okay?_

Force-sensitive or not, Artoo’s series of low whirrs were clear.

_No._

Grogu felt his gaze dropping and his ears drooping. He opened his mouth to coo – an understanding, an apology, _(it’s not your fault because it was mine_ ) before Artoo interrupted him with another beep.

Grogu blinked, his gaze rising to stare at the lights of the mech, confused.

Artoo made a sound that sounded a bit too close to exasperation. The mech extended a mechanical arm and tugged – pointedly – at the sooty, ash-covered robes that Grogu still wore. The mechanical arm then proceeded to gesture broadly at the room around them.

At the soot marks that might’ve not been as small as Grogu had first noticed.

His snort choked in his throat sheepishly. Already, another apology bubbled out of him into the Force, but Artoo had already moved away. Gone back to the cabinets where Grogu had found his blanket. Opening the drawers and pulling out fabric after fabric that Grogu can’t even begin to make sense of.

He made a soft sound of confusion and Artoo turned back towards him. The mech beeped at him, chiding him, waving his mechanical arm at a door that Grogu had walked past but never bothered to try and open.

Grogu started towards it, then paused – staring back to his father’s helmet.

If Artoo had a problem with Grogu bringing the _beskar_ with him, the Mech didn’t have a chance to say it as Grogu lifted the helmet onto his back and hurried to the door.

He barrelled into a small, rectangular room and paused as he took it all in. Sink, tub, toilet, mirror. He was in a bathroom.

_Oh_. Grogu glanced back to his spotty robes.

Oh, _no_. Grogu was not about to-

When Grogu opened the door, still in his filthy robes, Artoo beeped angrily at him and Grogu quickly found himself back into the bathroom.

Well. Guess he doesn’t have a choice.

_( ~~“Look, kid, I don’t like having to force you into this either,”~~_ ~~Buir _grunted as he struggled to get Grogu into the sink. “You’re filthy and you need a bath,_ Ner ad _, it’s not as bad as you think.”)_~~

It wasn’t as bad as Grogu thought.

He had clambered into the sink and slid down into it, eyeing the tap warily. After a while, he figured that waiting would only make it worse and kicked the tap to open. The water was cold and Grogu yelped, tensing and hating it and wishing he could climb out of the water and _oh_ , this wasn’t too bad. It quickly turned out to be fun.

Grogu hoped Artoo didn’t mind if the bathroom floor was flooded.

Then Grogu realised Artoo wouldn’t need to know because the mech didn’t need to use the bathroom. The realisation was punctuated by a triumph splash.

The sharp whirr that came behind him made him realise that the triumph splash was badly timed.

Grogu winced and chirred softly, his ears drooping and shifting his apologetic gaze between the mech and the floor.

Artoo beeped a sigh and shook himself. His mechanical arm extended and Grogu eyed the curious pieces of fabric the mech held.

One minor wrestling session later because the water was _fun_ and Grogu didn’t want to go yet. One minor accident later where Artoo’s wheels slipped and they briefly skidded along the wet bathroom floor. Grogu’s journey into new clothes was mostly uneventful.

Artoo could say differently.

Grogu chirred and giggled almost cheekily, before _Oh-_

One minor accident where Grogu slipped and briefly skidded along the wet bathroom floor later. Artoo whirred at him, laughing at the now rumpled state of his clothes.

Grogu grumbled softly, running his hands down the front of his new robes in an attempt at reorganising himself. _Buir_ ’s helmet at least stood beside him again, so Grogu found it was worth it.

A knock on the door.

“Master Skywalker?”

Grogu found himself moving before he realised it. He stood behind the mech, _he was not hiding, he was just seeking cover_ ( _ ~~the fires raged as his door banged and heaved against its hinges.)~~_

“Master Skywalker,” the voice called out again. “Senator Organa has asked to meet with-“

Movement – fast and sudden – out the corner of Grogu’s eyes. Master Skywalker was up and moving and he slammed open the door, startling everyone on both sides.

“She asked to meet me? She wants to talk to me?” Master Skywalker’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Where?”

The Jedi Master had left, _(“Stay here I’ll be right back.”)_

Artoo had left, telling Grogu in a series of chirps to stay here, he’d be right back.

Grogu didn’t leave. Probably because he wouldn’t know where he was going, but he liked to think it was because he had nobody to tell to stay here, he’d be right back.

Grogu _had_ more ration bars though. He had found them, from Master Skywalker’s pack.

He sat on the ground, blanket draped over his legs, leaning against _Buir_ ’s helmet – every bite he chewed off and swallowed growing slower and slower and more drowsy…

Grogu jumped, catching the ration bar before it could slip out of his hand. His entire body tensed up with a yawn almost instantly after. The comfort of his new robes, his new blanket, _Buir_ ’s helmet, the bath. The exhaustion of the journey, _(the fire)_ , Master Skywalker.

Grogu wasn’t going to leave, and both Artoo and Master Skywalker had told him they’d be back. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

He chirred drowsily, dropping the ration bar on the floor, kicking his blanket off of his legs as he stood. A half-murmured, half-thought apology was out in the air as Grogu moved to push _Buir_ ’s helmet onto its side.

His claw snagged onto something in the _beskar_. The Visor lit up.

_“Verd’ika.”_

Grogu froze, his eyes widening, his drowsiness forgotten. He turned around, searching for the source of the sound – before, finally, his gaze fell to the lit-up T-Visor.

_“Verd’ika,”_ _Beroya_ ’s voice sighed. _“I know you’re probably…happy, where you are with the Jedi. He’s a good person, and he’d take care of you.”_

Grogu’s breath caught at the edge of his throat.

_“But,”_ The _Beroya_ continued. The audio muffled slightly, before it cleared. _“If you ever want to find me, for whatever reason, I’ll be on Tatooine.”_

Tatooine.

_(“Tatooine, Grogu.”)_

_“Don’t know why you’d ever want to find me,”_ The Beroya muttered. _“Nevermind. Stay safe, Verd’ika.”_

The entire room was silent – baited, holding its breath.

_“And don’t fall,”_ The _Beroya_ added, softly.

The light in the T-Visor flickered off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir: Parent (Father)  
> Ner ad: My son  
> Verd'ika: Private (rank); Can be used affectionately, often to a child. "Little soldier." Context is crucial  
> Beroya: Bounty Hunter. Grogu's nickname for Boba Fett  
> I am so used to Mando'a that I just don't translate them and have to remind myself that not everyone understands fictional star wars language.
> 
> writing nightmares (especially ones that don't make sense) is surprisingly fun. Ben Solo's Dream method of killing Djarin is actually how I imagined Djarin to have actually died. There's a fun little easter egg.
> 
> I'd like to extend a formal apology to literally everyone if I'm wrong in the way I write Luke Skywalker. I have never watched this man until he came up in the Mandalorian. 
> 
> (Watches that one episode where Grogu cheered like a kid in a roller coaster while they were in a literal fire fight)  
> "Ah yes, this child likes danger."  
> The child also finally gets a bath


	4. what kind of god lets children die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my g o d.  
> this chapter was a tough one. probably because I kept having to stop writing to focus on 'Responsibilities' and 'School Work'.  
> What makes it worse is that school will only get busier from here :(  
> I'll promise I'll keep writing. If it's one word a day, then so be it. 'A' counts as a word. I'm a juggler and I'm the only one in this entire damn circus.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR THE KINDNESS AND THE WORDS!!! LOVE ALL OF YOU!!
> 
> cw for one (1) star wars curse word, one (1) Mandalorian curse word, and one (1) attempt at a Mandalorian curse word. Oh god and a panic attack, I can’t believe I forgot about the panic attack.
> 
> Mando'a translations in the end!

_“Vor entye, vod. We thank you.”_

_“It’s the least I can do. No debt.” A sigh. “Mandalorians are scattered and dying. As long as I sit on that throne, you will always have a place here.”_

…

Grogu was lost. He knew he’d get lost. The hallways were too big, too similar. If there was a pattern, he couldn’t see it.

Nevermind that, he also didn’t know where he was going. It was hard to see Master Skywalker’s Force Signature, here on Coruscant. The Force was so… _happening_ and it was leaping around, dancing and he couldn’t get it to still long enough.

He shifted the _beskar_ helmet on his back, glancing down the two hallways. If they had any differences, they weren’t really good at being differences.

Here he was, stuck quite literally at a crossroads.

( _ ~~“Guess you and I are stuck at a crossroads, huh?”~~_ ~~Buir _muttered, visor swinging from one path to the one beside it. He snorted, shaking his head in an almost laugh. “Literally.”)_~~

Well, Grogu had went left the last time he got stuck on a crossroads. Information in mind, he stepped as confidently as he could into the hallway on the right.

Hopefully, the right one.

Snickering at his own mental wordplay, quickly falling silent as he tried to navigate Coruscant. It had been cool and fun at first – the adventure, the thrill, the excitement – but after what felt like hours, and probably was judging by the now darkened sky outside what windows he found, Grogu was just bored. Bored and tired.

He wanted to get this over with.

He wanted to find Master Skywalker.

He wanted to go to Tatooine.

How Grogu was going to explain wanting to go to Tatooine to the Jedi Master was something he didn’t…know, quite yet. He’ll get there. Maybe he’ll use the Force as an excuse. Master Skywalker almost never argued with him when he used the Force as an excuse, except for that one time Grogu tried to tell him he _had_ to steal the treats because the Force had told him too.

The Force hadn’t said _no_.

Grogu passed by an inconspicuous looking door, then froze. His spine prickled in the most curious sensation and his breaths began to shorten into quick huffs. His eyes impossibly wide, Grogu moved in a slow turned, gaze fixated on the Seemingly Inconspicuous Door.

Of course, this door wasn’t inconspicuous at all. It was familiar – very, devastatingly familiar.

Grogu flung the door open and was greeted with the room Senator Organa had given them, and was his starting point.

He’d walked in one massive circle.

The sharp clang of _beskar_ on the floor as he dropped _Buir’s_ helmet. An angry sigh rattled out of his lungs. Followed closely by another, sadder sigh. Then a noise of guilt. As quickly as he could, Grogu wrapped the fabric tied around his father’s helmet back around his shoulders – picking up the _beskar_ in a not-as-smooth upwards motion.

 _Sorry,_ Buir.

But guilt for disrespecting his father didn’t work to quell his frustration completely. Grogu leaned heavily against the wall on his side, eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

Grumpily glanced to the inside of the room, to the outside similarly themed hallways. The stupid decorations. The stupid colour scheme. Grogu stuck his tongue out at it all.

This whole place was stupid. It was stupid and it didn’t even look good and it smelled like ash and what’s the point of ‘good’ hallways if you can’t even walk through them without getting turned around.

He blinked, slowly.

It smelled like ash.

Or rather, like the ash-covered, sooty robes of a Jedi Master.

Grogu stepped away, roaming along the width of the hallway as he tried to _really_ pinpoint the smell. Tried his best, his utmost best, at trying separate the buried acrid smell of Master Skywalker’s unchanged robes from all the other useless ones.

And when he did? _(oh when he did)_

Grogu _ran_.

No matter it came in the complete _opposite_ direction he’d walked down the first time, because he actually had a trail to follow and he was going to find his teacher and it was _just_ like the time he caught those bugs near the Jedi Temple _( ~~and those frogs with Buir~~_.)

Master Skywalker was just one, giant frog bug. Or bug frog. Brog? Fug?

Master Skywalker _stank_.

…

“-to the best of us.”

_Senator Organa!_

Grogu couldn’t actually believe following the faint smell of ash actually worked. More than a long shot, Grogu had just thought it would’ve at least not taken him to spin around in a full circle without him knowing.

The absurdity of it all made him grin. He couldn’t wait to hear the laughs from the other Jedi Younglings when they found out Master Luke _smelled_ strong enough for Grogu to-

The thought cut off and wrenched brutally out of his mind – into the deepest, darkest, coldest place he could have pushed it to.

His breath choked.

He shouldn’t have- He was so caught up in the excitement of being on Coruscant, of finding _Beroya_ ’s message, of something new.

He didn’t forget. But it was pushed to the back of his mind, where he hadn’t looked at it for far too long.

He failed to save them. He doesn’t deserve to forget.

His steps slowed as his cheer melted like butter on a hot pan, eyebrows furrowing and ears drooping.

Chest hurting.

Again.

Grogu breathed in a deep breath. Then another. Then, one so deep that he physically started to lean back.

The ache subsided only slightly.

Eyes narrowed. Sighing.

He kept walking.

The voices grew clearer.

“I know you’re sorry,” Senator Organa was saying. “You made bad choices. So did my boy. Maybe I made a bad choice too.”

“Don’t,” Master Skywalker’s voice was soft. “The last thing it could be was your fault.”

Senator Organa sighed.

Coming into a jog at the end, Grogu finally reached a turn in the hallway. The voices had briefly fallen silent. He could pick up the faint sounds of shuffling, of whispering fabric, of more sighs but this time sounding less sorrowful and more…

Not content. Tired, very – but not despairing. In between.

Grogu didn’t know how long he stood there, half-leaning around the corner with his ears pricked and his breathing silent, but a sudden whirring beep behind him made him jump.

There, leaning down at him with his lights blinking in a way that only screamed disappointment, Artoo caught him with his little green hands red.

More shifting. Master Skywalker called out, “Grogu?”

Wincing terribly both inwardly and outwardly, Grogu miserably walked over to stand before the two adults – his teacher and the Senator, both leaning against the other as they sat on a sleek and smooth bench. Master Skywalker with the corners of his eyes pinched, Senator Organa with her breaths short; both with shining tear-stains on their faces.

With his head bowed, surprise briefly nagged at him as he registered the _green_ of the ground beneath him.

He was standing on grass. Inside. Eyes flicking to the sides – eyes widening at the large twisted tree that stood proud by large windows stretching from the ceiling to the ground.

The lights of Coruscant blinked at him. Grogu blinked back.

He was in a garden. _Inside_. A piece of outside that was inside and it was so turned-around yet so _fascinating_ and he never thought so much of outside could fit on the inside. Caught up as he was over something so principally simple yet so mind-boggling at the same time, he missed the way Senator Organa breathed in a sharp and sudden breath of air.

“Luke,” she said, clutching onto her brother’s arms. “Where did he get a _Mandalorian’s helmet?”_

Grogu blinked, head turned to glance back at the _beskar_ he carried on his back.

“Oh.” Master Luke blinked, a sharp contrast of calm to Senator Organa’s rising panic. “His father was a Mandalorian.”

Senator Organa stared at him. Afterwards, she stared at Grogu. She leaned back, took a deep breath, and flicked her gaze to _really_ stare at Master Luke.

“His father was a _kriffing-“_

Senator Organa’s jaw snapped shut _before_ Master Luke’s cry of ‘Leia!’. Guilt brewed like a rising drizzle, dripping out through the Senator and onto the Force – onto him.

Grogu tilted his head, frowning whilst his eyebrows furrowed. “Se…nah?” he chirred. Instinctively pushing out glimpses of reassurance through the Force despite not knowing what exactly the senator was feeling guilty about.

_( ~~“Haar’chak.”)~~_

_~~(“Haaaaak!”)~~ _

_~~(“Shh! No no~~ _ ~~Ner ad _don’t say that!”)_~~

After all, he’s heard worse.

His reassurance was met with hesitation at first, then an ever-growing trickle of acknowledgement and appreciation. Gratitude.

Grogu dragged out a purr, if only for a second.

Senator Organa’s mouth opened and closed in the most curious way of not letting a single sound escaping her. Finally, she shut her mouth and breathed out a sigh through her nose…her eyes suddenly very sorrowful.

“His father… _was_ a Mandalorian?” Her voice was soft, tentative, cautious.

Yet still, Grogu flinched.

His reassurance snapped back towards him like a rubber band. He could feel the Senator reaching out to him, only to be halted in place by his defensive walls. To be rebuked by the strength of his glare, and the slight curl of his lips.

Grogu curled his arms to his chest. The Force wrapped around him like a blanket. He held.

 _He held_.

Focused on his breathing.

Focused on keeping them out.

 _Beskar_ helmet on his back.

Inhale. Exhale.

“-different Mandalorian,” Master Skywalker sighed, sounding almost relieved.

Grogu bit back a growl.

“I figured,” Senator Organa blinked at _Buir_ ’s helmet. “It’s a different colour. The paint they use for their armour is important to them. It… _means_ something, Luke. A kind of symbolism, or a promise-”

Master Skywalker snorted. “The only thing Fett’s promising is being dead in a sarlacc pit.”

Grogu blinked.

Fett.

_(“I swear, Fett, if you said anything that would’ve-“)_

He chirred, straightening – eyes widening. Fett! _Beroya!_

Tatooine!

“About that…” Senator Organa winced.

Master Skywalker glanced back over to her, his expression falling still. “About what?”

Senator Organa narrowed her eyes.

Grogu stepped quickly. He grabbed onto Master Skywalker’s robes and tugged. Coos and chirrs and purrs rolled together and he was rambling, pleading to the Jedi Master _let’s go let’s go let’s go to-_

“Boba Fett is dead.” Master Skywalker didn’t sound so sure, slowly moving his gaze from The Child to the Senator, to the Mech, and back to the Senator. “Leia?”

Senator Organa sighed and shook her head.

…

Back in their room, Grogu retrieved his blanket. A soft sigh swept into the gentle, cloud-soft fabric that he pressed his face into. Revelling in the texture, spoiling himself for a glorious five seconds.

With small undercurrents of hesitation, he pulled away. In a quick motion, he draped it over his father’s helmet. He stared at it for a while, head ever-so-slightly tilted – and nodded, wholly satisfied. The child folded his legs as he sat down on the ground beside it.

Leaning against the blanket covered _beskar_.

The tell-tale sounds of splashing water, muffled by the closed door, made his ears twitch. Master Skywalker had been in there for _far_ too long and surely if he hurried up they could already be in Tatooine and with the _Beroya_ and what was he doing-

_(“You mean to tell me,” Master Skywalker pinched out, pressing his fingers to the sides of his head, “that Boba ‘dropped in a sarlacc pit and died’ Fett, didn’t die **and** he took over Jabba’s weird Crime Palace?”)_

It was weird how Master Skywalker kept trying to say that the _Beroya_ had died. He obviously hadn’t. How else would Grogu had been able to get _Buir_ ’s helmet?

_(“Crime syndicates aren’t taken down overnight, Luke.” Senator Organa’s grief-cracked voice strengthened briefly with her annoyance. “Especially not one run by a Mandalorian.”)_

_Beroya_ was a Mandalorian. That’s not a bad thing, despite Senator Organa’s tone. No, it was _good_ to be a Mandalorian. Mandalorians are good people.

 _Buir_ was a Mandalorian.

Grogu rested his case.

_(“A Force Vision?” The Senator and the Jedi Master gave off waves of alarm in widened eyes that stared down at him. “When?”)_

Artoo never seemed to take a break. Always moving, from one side of the room to another. Mechanical arms opening drawers, closing cupboards, packing and preparing. Wheels that kept turning and beeps that never ceased.

Grogu offered him a half-smile when the mech turned to check on him.

_(“Visions are tricky, Grogu,” Master Skywalker reminded him yet again. “They might not always mean what you think they mean.”)_

Force visions _were_ tricky. Filled with symbolism, lack of details, mistakes, inaccuracies, exaggerations, metaphors. It was hard to tell what was clear and what was a warning. Harder still to try and stop it – or to fulfil it.

Luckily for him, Grogu had more than a Force Vision to guide him.

He glanced back to the helmet-shaped bump beneath light-blue blanket behind him. _Beroya’s_ message rang through his mind again and again and again. With every loopback, the details blurred until Grogu couldn’t be sure what the _Beroya_ had actually said and what was just Grogu paraphrasing.

He ached to try and turn it back on. To try and find the latch or button or whatever it was on the side of the helmet that had given him the message.

_(“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Master Skywalker was saying. “I don’t trust that bounty hunter any further than I can throw him. And with all that armour he wears, I bet I can’t throw him that far at all.”)_

Grogu had the feeling Master Skywalker didn’t really like the _Beroya_ , though.

 _(“You don’t have to trust him,”_ _Senator Organa said, a heavy grimace on her face. “I certainly don’t.”)_

Grogu had a feeling Senator Organa didn’t like the _Beroya_ either.

The door to the bathroom pushed open and the silence – empty of the sound of running water – suddenly stood stark bright.

Standing in the doorway, his hair and beard still slightly dripping, Master Luke looked cleaner and looked like he _felt_ a lot cleaner too. The Jedi Master held his ashy, ruined robes in one arm whilst the other closed the door behind him.

Grogu felt his nose twitch. Guess he’d have to work harder not to lose the Jedi Master this time, since he wouldn’t be able to follow the smell of ash.

_(Grogu didn’t really want to follow the smell of ash around anyway.)_

“Never tell me that I don’t love my sister,” the Jedi Master said to Artoo. “That was _one_ time!” was the indignant response to the mech’s whirrings.

Grogu huffed a quick breath of air through his nose, something like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. One that quickly slipped away once Master Skywalker turned his gaze back around to him.

“Are you sure about this, Grogu?” The Jedi Master dropped ruined robes into an equally ragged-looking bag. “Boba Fett is a dangerous bounty hunter. Can’t forget how tricky Force Visions are too.”

Grogu frowned. He knew that. He wasn’t as helpless to think that Force Visions _weren’t_ difficult.

The _Force_ could be difficult. Force Visions were a no-brainer.

As if sensing his impatience, Master Skywalker lifted his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying,” he sighed, “if the Force had sent me a vision about Tatooine, going to Boba Fett’s Weird Crime Palace would be the last thing I’d try to do.”

The child’s spine prickled and his ears twitched, uneasy guilt draping over his shoulders and weighing them down.

Putting on a face of indifference, Grogu shrugged. He turned his back on the Jedi Master, grabbing the hems of the light blue blanket in his claws and running them through his hands.

Behind him, Grogu could hear his teacher sigh.

Another door opened – the main one this time – and the Senator strode into the room. A face of calm and composure to most; a cracked mask filled with edges of grief and sorrow to them.

The Senator stopped abruptly half inside the room. A heavy sigh slipped past her shoulders, yet Grogu was the one that couldn’t breathe. The air knocked out of him, his mind reeled at the sudden realisation that the Senator was _old_.

Master Skywalker was, too.

A memory of warning peeked through the barriers in his mind and Grogu roughly pushed it back. Grogu was plenty old too. He was big too. It was fine.

He was fine.

Senator Organa and Master Skywalker weren’t _that_ old.

“-now?” Senator Organa was saying. “Boba Fett’s not going anywhere.”

Grogu felt the Jedi Master’s gaze on him. “Grogu thinks we should hurry,” his teacher said – and The Child thanked him for the conviction in his voice.

His teacher believed him. If Grogu said that they need to go soon, then they’ll go soon.

The guilt nagged at him for taking advantage of his teacher’s kindness. Grogu shoved it aside, letting a small rush of anger take its place. Consider it the start of the Jedi Master’s debt towards him – debt, for having failed so miserably with Ben Solo.

“All you have to go on is a _Force Vision_ that vaguely says something about Boba Fett,” the Senator argued.

“We’ve gone on much less,” The Jedi Master replied, sounding much like he was reminding her of something she’d forgotten.

Something she sounded like she’d rather have kept forgotten, judging by the Senator’s narrowed eyes and her half puff of air, half a bit back growl.

“Leia,” Master Skywalker moved towards her, his arms raised in her direction, “we’re just going to scout things out. It’ll help you get Fett’s weak points, it’ll help _us_ deal with the Force. I promise, we’ll go total no confrontation.”

The Senator scoffed bitterly. “Since when were you no confrontation?”

“Hey,” his teacher protested, a small and hesitant smile on the corners of his lips, “it’s not like I’m Han.”

That was the wrong thing to say. That was a _really_ wrong thing to say. Senator Organa looked like she’d been slapped, and his teacher didn’t look any better – the smile slipped on his face and a look of horror slowly growing.

But still, Grogu hadn’t thought it was _that_ bad, until the Senator started crying.

The child could only straighten his sit. Ears twitching, eyes wide, instinctive reassurance bundling through the Force whilst his teacher bundled physically towards her.

“What am I going to tell Han?” The Senator wept into her brother’s shoulders, unresistant against his hug – his comfort. _“What am I going to tell Han?”_

Han.

Han…Solo?

A jolt spasmed through his veins like lightning, sending his thoughts ablaze.

Han Solo…was Ben Solo’s _Buir_.

Grogu turned his head away, turning away from the siblings, turning away from the whirlwind of thoughts as best his could. Quick, sharp bursts of wind filled his senses and deafened everything else and too late, he realised it was his own breathing.

Dimly, he could feel the fabric of his own robes beneath his claws. A small shift, then the soft feel of his blanket.

( _Fire Smoke Fire Screams of the other Younglings Smoke Fire Smoke Younglings)_

A waft of sunlight in a darkened room, Grogu focused on it – clutched it in his claws, leaned in its direction.

And he breathed.

Every raging thought in his head

_(Ben Solo’s Buir Ben Solo’s Buir Ben Solo’s Buir)_

pushed harshly to the side

_(My Buir My Buir My Buir My Buir)_

trying his best to find calm in the storm. To get everything to just be _quiet_ long enough for him to think and to _feel_ -

The world bled back in, slowly. First, the blue blanket. Then, _Buir_ ’s helmet. The ground beneath him. His aching, exhausted body. Soft voices, still wet with tears, of the Senator and the Jedi – echoed by the whirrs of Artoo.

Grief in the air. Their room. A darkened world outside the windows.

And finally? Him. Grogu.

He stifled a groan, muffling whatever sound that escaped into his blanket. Breathed it in. Breathed out in it. Stifled the shaking in his shoulders – lowered them. His teeth hurt. Dizziness crept at the edges of his consciousness, the kind that pressed a heavy weight into his brain.

Bone-deep tiredness that demanded sleep. For a second, he fought against it – his job wasn’t done, he still needed to get to Tatooine, to get to the _Beroya_ , to a familiar familiar face that still cared and can take care of him.

Because that was what it was. _Beroya_ could take care of him. He had, once _( ~~after Buir~~ )_.

 _Beroya_ was safe.

Grogu glanced behind him, to the grieving siblings.

The Jedi weren’t. Not anymore.

The acknowledgement was the final thread cut, and Grogu knew he couldn’t force himself awake no matter how he tried. Supporting himself on one hand and slowly lowering himself down to the ground, he curled his body around the blanket-clad- _beskar_.

…

It was morning by the time he awoke.

Sunlight streamed through the windows in rays. Muffled chaos from the already awakened city just barely breached his ears, into his sleep-muddled brain. Drowsily, Grogu stretched his legs from where he lay on soft bedding, a rolling purr spilling out of him as he pressed his face into cool softness.

A breath of air.

Grogu jumped.

He hadn’t meant to leap so far up. But the sudden realisation of _not where he slept not with the helmet **where was the helmet**_ sent a ripple of jolting energy through the Force – pushing him out of the covers and into the air.

Too far into the air.

Grogu felt the tips of his ears brush the ceiling. His eyes widened. In that half-second, his breath caught in his air, terror seizing his chest, Grogu stared down at the _too far_ ground beneath him. 

A second passed. Then another.

By the tenth second with him still suspended up in the air, Grogu finally allowed himself to breathe. He turned his head, staring down at the ground, finally letting his gaze fall onto a figure standing at the doorway with an arm outstretched in his direction.

Senator Organa and Grogu stared silently at each other for another fifteen seconds. His wide eyes mirrored her own.

He swung his legs.

The Senator blinked. Even from here, Grogu could see a relieved breath ripple through her shoulders. Slowly, she lowered her arm – and him – down towards the ground.

Grogu wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t. It was drowsiness that made him fall to his hands and knees the moment the Senator let go. It was the sleepy aftermath that made him shudder and choke out a breath. Grogu wasn’t afraid.

He was big. Big and old. He can’t be afraid.

“Grogu?” the sweeping steps of the Senator and the whispering fabric of her robes. The Senator was safe, meaning she wouldn’t _hurt_ him, but-

Grogu growled the moment she rested her fingers on his shoulders. Snapped his head up to glare. Met her shocked gaze with a furious one of his own. Stormed through the Force without even the appropriate nudges.

Ignored her flinch.

_Where is the helmet?_

Senator Leia gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth in that curious way when no sound came out. Finally, she managed a small noise from the back of her throat. ”Bedside-“

Grogu pulled away, pushed up, onto his feet and he ran. Bustled past the Senator and moved as fast as his legs could carry him without bumping into every piece of furniture on the way.

In a burst of quick thinking, he chose not to go down along the sides of the bed and instead clambered _up_ – dug claws into bedframes, then into covers, crawling until he could stand on the bed, in the middle.

The left side must’ve been the side he slept on. It faced the window, the covers were flung aside, and there was a distinct lack of _Buir’s helmet_ on that side. Grogu moved to the right, tripping on the folds of the covers and stumbling until he finally reached the small desk that stood at the side of the bed.

The desk that, on top of its dark surface, stood _beskar_ helmet.

Grogu didn’t relax. He didn’t relax until he dragged the _beskar_ off the table – almost toppling down and falling in the process. He didn’t relax until he and it were on the bed, until he could drape himself onto it, relishing in the relieving familiarity of cool _beskar_ and _Buir_.

Pressing his face flat against the metal and letting small, stray tears of fear and frustration seep out of the corners of his eyes, he could not see The Senator hesitantly make her way towards him. All he had was the almost-silent sounds of her steps, and then the dip of the bed from her weight.

“We moved you in the middle of the night, so that you wouldn’t be sore when you woke up.” Her voice was gentle – gentle and hesitant.

Grogu glanced towards her through the corners of his eyes, staring at her apologetic curve of lips and the soft openness of his eyes.

And he recoiled against it.

Senator Organa sighed, her eyes growing so very sad. Grogu stifled the urge to snap at her, to tell her to stop it, stop staring at him like that, just-

Leave him be.

Senator widened her eyes. “Why would-“ she stopped. Breathed in a breath so deep it moved her shoulders. “Do you _want_ me to leave you alone?” she amended.

Grogu turned his head away. The _beskar_ was cold and hard against his forehead, beneath his palms.

He just-

He didn’t-

A heavy sigh shook his frame.

A sudden nudge made his ears twitch. The Force spun slowly around him, almost tender in its gentleness. A nudge, coated in the Senator’s Force Signature, pressing gently against his own. Patient where her brother wasn’t, firm where he was fluid.

Successful.

Another heavy sigh bundled out of him – one more of relief – and it dragged his shoulders away from his head. Relaxed. Or at least, slightly more if not completely. Once he gave the Senator access, to his thoughts was not the first destination she made to.

The Senator made to his heart.

Metaphorically.

As he’d done for her just yesterday, she did for him now. Offer reassurance – waving, rolling tides of reassurance – and acceptance, for whatever it is that he decided. Comfort. Calm.

He wondered if the acceptance would still be there, if she knew what he really had planned.

Abruptly, the connection stopped and his fear spiked – _did she hear? did she know? what would she do? what would **he** do? – _but his fears were, apparently, unfounded. The Senator turned her head, revealing the Astromech that stood behind her.

“Already?” The smile in her voice made for an odd pair alongside the subtle disappointment. “You’ll beat a record somewhere soon.”

Artoo whirred.

A frown tugged at the corners of his lips, pulling them and his eyebrows down to furrow.

“Luke’s probably been waiting for us,” the Senator said. She turned back towards him. Her eyes were soft and sad. “Are you…ready to go?”

Go.

To Tatooine.

Grogu felt himself perk upwards, bundling out a chirr. He could do that. He could go – go on the ship, go to Tatooine, to the _Beroya_.

 _Beroya_ would understand.

 _Beroya_ would keep him safe.

The Senator smiled at him – the kind that’s hesitant and odd, but a smile nonetheless. “Alright,” she stood, brushing her palms down the front of her robes and clearing out none-existent specks of dust. “But before we go…”

Grogu tilted his head.

…

He’d chosen to walk, instead of letting the Senator carry him. She slowed her steps, respecting his wishes.

Artoo did too, although he apparently couldn’t stand waiting for his smaller strides. The Astromech had gone onwards, down the path that would eventually lead them back towards the hangar. Back towards Master Skywalker.

Grogu shifted the _beskar_ helmet around his shoulders – a fit that sat more comfortably now, thanks to the Senator’s minor modifications. A better strip of fabric. A tighter knot. A more comfortable sling. They’d even turned it upside down, letting the opening of the helmet act as some sort of storage; Grogu had placed his blanket in there, and a spare change of robes.

He’d briefly wondered if _Buir_ would be offended. The helmet was important.

_~~(“Sometimes, ner ad’ika, we do what we must to survive.”)~~ _

_Buir_ would understand.

Once Grogu had gotten over his hesitation and suspicion _~~(and the slight guilt of instinctively snapping at the Senator’s outstretched fingers)~~_ , it didn’t take long for him to dissolve into wonder. Wide eyes following every flick and twist of the Senator’s hands as she worked with the _beskar_ and the fabric to make him more comfortable.

Another twang of guilt rang in him as he walked. One he quickly snuffed out like a candle.

_( ~~“Sometimes, ner ad’ika, we do what we must to survive.”)~~_

The Senator would understand. Eventually.

Slowly, his ears began to pick up chatter. Sounds of machinery. The beeping and whirring of multiple droids. Above all, the roar of ship engines, packed together in one spot.

His heart near skipped a beat and his steps certainly did, picking up in pace and almost running down the last stretch of the hallway. Excitement bound its way down his veins and brought fuel to his legs, his footsteps rapidly going _tap tap tap_.

“Grogu, wait,” the Senator called.

Despite himself and his burst of frustration, he did. He turned slowly away from the hangar and from one step closer to _Beroya_ , his head tilted upwards to meet the Senator’s furrowed eyebrowed gaze.

“I-“ The Senator stopped. She lowered herself down to her knees whilst Grogu’s eyes – now wide with rapt-attention – followed.

“I’m…” The Senator trailed off again. Her eyebrows furrowed and she frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Grogu blinked. Once. Twice.

_About the helmet?_

The Senator’s eyes pinched. “No,” she said. “Though I am sorry about that too,” she was quick to add.

Grogu tilted his head. He chirred softly, almost worriedly, raising and extending his hand towards her face.

“About Ben Solo.”

He snapped his arms back, instinctively flinching and stepping away.

The Senator quick raised her hands up and leaned back. For once, gone was the proud and strong, confident Senator. Instead, there was only…

Leia.

Leia Organa. Brother of Luke Skywalker. Wife of Han Solo.

Mother of Ben Solo.

 _Buir_ of Ben Solo.

“I know it changes nothing,” whispered Leia in a sad and sorrowful – mourning – tone. “Nothing will excuse it, nothing will make up for it.”

Grogu stared, barely breathing.

“I know I can only say and do so much,” Leia continued. She twisted her raised hands to gesture and shrug, the motion to slow and heavy to be seen as dismissive. “I’m…only his mother. I’m not him. I can’t fix that.”

She breathed in, sharp and raggedy. “But-“

“Leia!”

Maybe Master Skywalker had horrible timing. Maybe he came in the nick of time. It would depend on who you ask – The Senator, or Grogu.

The Jedi Master stopped a few paces away from them. The sleeves of his robes folded to his elbows. His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced between The Child and the kneeling Senator.

His teacher opened his mouth to speak-

“Luke,” Senator Organa sighed as she rose to her feet. “We were just on our way.”

The Jedi Master glanced down at him. Stared for a while. Waiting for Grogu to say something, or to nod, or to chirr.

Grogu did none of those things. He merely ducked his head, shouldered the helmet, and walked. He moved past the Jedi Master, brushing against his shins, his back turned to them both.

It didn’t take Grogu long to spot the ship; marking a straight path down on over to it. Artoo was still milling about the legs, likely just waiting for them.

The mech whirred as Grogu approached.

The Child nodded silently in return.

If Artoo had caught onto anything odd or worrying, the mech gave no sign of it. Soon turning his attention to other things, like the steadily-louder growing footsteps of The Twins beneath the layers of noise and chatter.

Noise and chatter that seemed so… _normal_. Jarringly so. As if they didn’t know what happened a few days ago.

They probably didn’t. Probably wasn’t their fault too.

Didn’t make it any less wrong.

“With any luck,” Master Skywalker was saying, “we’d be back before you even realised we were gone.”

The Senator made a sound shot halfway between disdain and amusement. “If we had luck like that, things would turn out to be a lot different.”

Grogu turned just in time to see the Jedi Master smile.

“Ready?” His teacher turned towards him. His eyes quick flicking towards the improvised _beskar_ backpack before settling. Those sad smiles again.

Grogu wished they’d stop doing that. Either smile or don’t. The in-between was too complicated.

The Child nodded.

He moved to begin climbing up the steps in the rather literal sense. The helmet made it difficult, but Grogu shoved it all down and kept climbing.

The helmet stays on his back. Wherever he goes, _it_ goes. No questions asked.

Just as he reached the final, uppermost step – just as he was about to disappear in the X-Wing’s depths – the Force nudged at him in a final, desperate motion.

He half-turned his head, meeting the Senator’s wide-eyed gaze.

Wide eyes that grew wider and softer in response to his tiny nudge back.

The Senator opened her mouth, though her words were lost.

Grogu stepped into the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vor entye: Thank you. (lit. I accept a debt)  
> Vod: Brother/Comrade  
> Beskar: Mandalorian Iron  
> Buir: Parent. Father. Mother  
> Beroya: Bounty Hunter. Grogu's nickname for Boba Fett  
> "Harchaak!": Damn it!  
> Ner ad: My son/child  
> Ner ad'ika: My little one
> 
> I made a post on my tumblr (that i keep forgetting to link; @moderndayscribing) that was basically me going "Hey Grogu naturally hunts in the show. He'd be a really good bounty hunter," because he is and I will die on this hill.  
> Also people are difficult. People are unfair. Especially when they've been hurt. Repeatedly. People do that. It's tough, but there you have it.  
> Next chapter will HOPEFULLY be the last one. Last awaited one. God I can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Buir: Parent  
> Ba'vodu: Parent's Sibling (Aunt/Uncle)  
> Verd'ika: Private (rank); often used for little children. "Little Soldier" (Context is crucial)  
> Beroya: Bounty Hunter  
> Ner ad: "My son."  
> Jetiise: Jedi (pl.)  
> Ret'urcye mhi: "goodbye" (Lit. "maybe we'll meet again")  
> Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la: A Mandalorian saying for the dead. "Not gone, merely marching far away"  
> Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: Mandalorian remembrance of the deceased. "I'm still alive, but you are dead, I remember you, so you are eternal."  
> I have never written Luke Skywalker ever.
> 
> So what do we know about Grogu's maturity rate.  
> We know he's 50 by the time Djarin finds him. We know at that point he acts like barely more than a 1 year old - although I do think that's just because of the sheer t r a u m a he's received at such a young age. I personally headcanon that two years had passed between season 1 and season 2 (which should be enough for Greef Karga's beard to grow white and for Nevarro be 'properly cleaned up'. You don't clean up a town like that overnight) so that puts Grogu has 52 during the second season.  
> In the span of 2 years, we've seen him adapt to being in Djarin's care - and seen him grow more confident and intelligent and mischeivous. That's just 2 YEARS in the care of a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter who cares very much but also lives life constantly on the run.  
> Imagine the progress he could make on a planet that's safe, secure, and under the care of Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Master.  
> My first instinct was to convert Grogu Years to Human Years by the tens. Fifty years is five years, sixty years is six years. BUT, this means that Yoda the Jedi Master became a Jedi Master at the mere age of ten, and that won't work out. After a lot of thinking and considering and hair pulling, I decided that maybe being an alien race that nobody knows about makes it so that converting Grogu Years to Human Years isn't as clean and simple as converting by the tens.  
> It's an answer I'm definitely not happy with and would probably continue to stew about for the next few weeks, but there you have it. For the purpose of this fic though, I'm definitely imagining Grogu as a ten-year old-ish equivalent.  
> God knows I might've butchered it though. If you cringe while reading it, I might actually understand.
> 
> Another note about Cara Dune. We know she'd never hurt the baby. We know she'd never let anyone hurt the baby. We know she would defend the baby with her dying breath, if not FOR the baby himself then for the memory of her friend Djarin.  
> But in the end, she is still Marshal Cara "Don't Do the Baby Thing" Dune. There's a REASON she doesn't do the baby thing. Lord knows she probably tried her best with Grogu, but she still doesn't do the baby thing. It's rough, it's awkward, but she tries her best and she loves Grogu but being a caretaker is not who she is, for whatever reason her character went through. She also just lost a very good friend - and she's hurt, and grieving, and now suddenly she has to take care of the equally hurt and grieving son of said good friend. Basically, Dune needs a break - they all do.  
> (disclaimer, I am talking about CARA DUNE, the character, and not her actress. Go to town with her actress)
> 
> Galaxy's Greatest Bounty Hunter went to visit his Verd'ika one day and found nothing. Galaxy's Greatest Bounty Hunter dropped everything and launched himself into the search for the Jetii who stole his Verd'ika. You cannot convince me Boba Fett cannot find Luke's Jedi School when Grogu is on the line.


End file.
